


Puckurt 30 Texts From Last Night (June 2012)

by test_kard_girl



Series: Puckurt Texts From Last Night [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:58:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 22,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/test_kard_girl/pseuds/test_kard_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My second set of Puckurt drabbles based around the theme Texts From Last Night, this batch from June 2012 (really? Seems like years ago). Again, would love your feedback, I had a lot of fun writing these!</p><p>Will try and add all of these in one batch, with Jan 2013 following soon (ish).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (773): I know it's not technically the "Mile High Club" but we def need a name for the airport bathroom. Cuz that just happened.

**(773): I know it's not technically the "Mile High Club" but we def need a name for the airport bathroom. Cuz that just happened.**

  
"I thought..." It's taking Puck a bit longer than is totally cool to get his breath back. "I thought... you were being... mature about this?"

Kurt nods vehemently, leaning in to catch Puck's lips again. Everytime he kisses him he bites a little harder.

"I am." He insists. "This is  _closure_." He kisses Puck again. "This is a good thing." And again. "It's what sane people do." And once more.

Puck grabs the back of Kurt's hair, forcing their kiss deeper. He feels Kurt's hands fist around his belt, the graze of his knuckles against his hipbones, pulling Puck's jeans tight around his hard-on.

Puck lets Kurt's weight press him back against the flimsy cubicle wall. Their mouths slip apart, but Puck snakes his other arm around Kurt's waist and holds him close, their foreheads touching, breathing softly against each others' damp lips.

"I'll be back in a year." He says. For like the hundredth time.

"Whatever." Kurt retorts mulishly. "I won't be here. I'll be in New York."

"You get so black and white about stuff when you're upset. You think I won't miss you too?"

"Shut  _up_  Puck."

Kurt kisses him again, and Puck really doesn't wanna forget the taste of Kurt's lips, so he lets him. Also, he supposes the rest of the dudes peeing in the departure lounge restrooms really don't need to hear their angsting, so kissing is a really good option.

A  _really_  good option.

Also, unzipping his pants. And letting Kurt make love to him one last time.

And yeah, he just said that.

"One year." Puck murmurs against Kurt's hair, as he draws his fingers slowly up and down the other boy's spine, post-orgasm haze reminding him that he doesn't give two fucks about his plane leaving in forty minutes.

Kurt sniffs a tiny laugh against Puck's neck.

"Puck. If either of us believed that we wouldn't be here right now."

His voice is low and weirdly flat.

Puck guesses he's right.

He draws in a deep breath that rattles way more than he wants it to. Then, softly, he wraps his lips around the lobe of Kurt's ear:

"...Want some more closure?"

He feels Kurt nod against his shoulder; the familiar push of his hips against his.

"Yes please."


	2. (870) Can I bring home a duck? Dead serious.

**(870) Can I bring home a duck? Dead serious.**

  
Puck wakes up feeling like he's riding a kayak down the Mississippi, and he's flailing uselessly for something to grab hold of before he realises it's his sadist of a boyfriend who's sitting against the bathroom wall and nudging him awake with his foot, singing that stupidly cheery 'Good Morning' song from  _Singin In The Rain_.

Puck groans, burying his face closer against the foot the toilet bowl, body curling automatically into the feotal position. "Cut it  _ouuut_..."

"Well good morning to you too, beautiful." Kurt replies,  _way_  too loud. "You're looking and smelling  _especially_  attractive today-- did  _any_  of that bottle of tequila make it into your gullet, or did you prefer the sensation of it cascading down your chest?"

Puck kicks threateningly in Kurt's general direction:

"Too. Many. Words." He growls.

"I have bacon bagels." Kurt replies sweetly, and Puck forces himself to sit up.

"Oh holy  _shit_." Puck blinks madly at the sudden shiny-whiteness of their freakishly pristine bathroom. He puts a hand up to his forehead, trying to focus through the brain cells sloshing about in his head.

For a long moment, he just stares:

"...Did I come home last night with a swan??"

Kurt glances at the ceiling: "A duck." He corrects.

Puck lets his eyes drift, trying to piece together this morning's lazy wander home; the plaintive quacking that drew his attention; the shiny feathers glinting under the hazy streetlamps.

"A  _duck_..." All at once, he remembers the joy he felt when Kurt texted back three sleepy question-marks which Puck took as an all-go.

"Is she ok??"

"She's fine."

Puck sighs heavily with relief-- his insides are swimming around his body and he legit remembers lip-locking with Trouty Mouth on a dare last night, so he totally doesn't need a botched wildlife rescue attempt on his conscience.

"Thank Moses." Puck collapses back flat against the cold floor tiles.

"Just out of interest." Kurt's voice comes again. "Why did you feel the need to bring a duck home?"

Puck thinks sleepily back. It was really, like, an ageless tale of bravery and triumph.

"She was just kinda like lying out there, all alone," he explains, feeling his heart tug again at the memory, "on her side, y'know like maybe she'd... she'd broken a leg or something?"

Kurt takes another thoughtful munch of his bagel:

"How'd you know it was a girl duck?"

Puck thinks.

"She was really pretty."

"You've named it in your head, haven't you?"

Puck nods, too hungover to feel sheepish:

"Jackie."

"Onassis?" Kurt's voice sharpens in surprise.

"...Daniels."

"But of course." Kurt nods; then jerks his head at the bathtub towering over them: "So do you want to see her?" He suggests with a sigh. "Miraculously you managed to stay conscious long enough to get her in the tub."

It takes longer than Puck expects to get his feet to coordinate and clamber back up from under the toilet, but he manages eventually. He leans gratefully against the bathroom wall, and eyes the drawn shower curtain in front of him with trepidation.

In one quick movement, he reaches across and tugs it open.

For a moment, it's all breathless relief-- Jackie's the right way up! Bobbing happily on the surface of the slightly-foamy tub water, blue-greeny feathers all slick and shiny. Puck feels a great big happy-boy grin break across his face.

Then he looks a bit closer.

Eventually, he feels Kurt's arms wrap around his waist, chin resting gently against his shoulder.

Puck screws up his forehead:

"...She's plastic."

Kurt presses a kiss to the side of his jaw:

"Yep."

Puck stares balefully at Jackie: at her unblinking eyes; the white patch where her feathers have rubbed away; the complete  _lack of feet_ :

"...But," He hesitates "but we can still keep her, right?"

Kurt gives a tiny, amused little chuckle:

"Get that disgusting mildewed fairground prize out of my bathtub."


	3. (770): You started throwing frozen shot glasses at people and you kept saying "it's fine, they melt."

**(770): You started throwing frozen shot glasses at people and you kept saying "it's fine, they melt."**

  
"Kurt!--"

"--Shit--"

"--Is he  _dead_?"

"--Dude, what the hell?" Finn slurs, dropping heavily to his knees beside his step-brother's limp body, quickly joined by an equally uncoordinated Rachel and Mercedes.

"He stuck his face in front of my game!" Puck protests; but he joins everyone else at Kurt's side, scrabbling around for a handful of ice-chips to use as a cold compress, but Rachel knocks them out of his hand and they end up skittering down the front of Kurt's shirt instead.

"Owowowowow..." Kurt whimpers; so at least he's conscious-- but he has to throw out a hand to keep himself from falling over, and Finn and Rachel share a worried glance.

Puck ignores them, shouldering Finn out the way to get a better look into Kurt's weirdly lax face.

"Dude, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hit you, but you stuck your face in front of the batter. Totally dumb move."

Everyone glowers at him again; but Kurt's eyelids are fluttering and it doesn't look like he can hear him at all.

"Kurt?" Puck tries again. "Dude, are you dying?"

It seems useful to ask. But then it sorta seems to send everyone else into a panic.

"Oh god, pink Pinnochio is dying!" Santana yells to the room at large, bouncing up and down on the sofa. "Somebody slap him in the face."

"Don't slap him, he needs CPR." Quinn scowls, and takes another langrous gulp of margarita.

"I don't know CPR!" Rachel wails.

"Chillax!" Puck snaps, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. "I'm in the pool-cleaning business, chicks pay me to do CPR all the time."

"Thought they paid you to clean pools." Tina snarks, then bursts into peels of giggles 'cos somehow that's totally hilarious.

Puck scowls at them. Sure, he's running on guilt right now, but is he the only one getting the seriousness of this situation? Kurt's  _dying_.

Knowing this is his moment to save the day, Puck throws a leg over Kurt's body and gets right up in his face: the other boy's eyes still aren't focusing-- he needs the Puckerone's magical mouth-moves, pronto.

Puck nods strongly to himself; then he presses in, covering Kurt's slightly slack mouth with his own.

Almost immediately, Puck hears the breath catching in the other boy's chest.

God, his lips are awesome.

Puck keeps going for good measure, and after fifteen seconds or so of selfless tongue-fucking Kurt looks  _way_  more alert. His hands scrabble at Puck's chest, pushing him back off him just a little bit. He's breathing real heavy and Puck guesses that's a good sign. Breathing means he's got air in his lungs, right?

For a really long minute, they just stare at each other, Kurt's fingers flexing nervously in the collar of Puck's shirt.

"...Am I unconscious?" He whispers, looking kinda terrified.

Puck pulls back to get a better look at him. His eyes are still kind of glazey. And that bruise...

Puck prods gingerly at the purplish lump coming up Kurt's forehead. The other boy winces and scowls back at him.

"Maybe." Puck answers, 'cos he really doesn't know how responsive someone would be with a concussion. He's seen guys on the field go down for hours, while some just power through it and throw up alot.

Kurt presses his lips together, eyes drifting away, and Puck kind of worries he's going to pass out again before the other's boy's gaze snaps back to his:

"...Were you giving me mouth-to-mouth?"

He sounds like he's just realised.

Puck shrugs in a totally badass, saving-lives-is-what-I-do kinda way: "Was it helping?"

Kurt frowns again, like he's thinking about it. The colour's definately coming back into his cheeks. Then Kurt's nodding to himself, and tugging Puck back closer.

"I think I'm gonna need some more of that." He murmurs "Y'know, in case I pass out again."

Puck raises an eyebrow.

Sounds legit. Anyways, Puck's totally in his comfort zone now.

He's pretty sure the next move in CPR is removing constrictive items of clothing. 


	4. (716): I was blowing him and "what if god was one of us" came on his playlist. I had to leave.

**(716): I was blowing him and "what if god was one of us" came on his playlist. I had to leave.**

"Look I know we're not exactly on the best terms. But if you really have been listening in, you'll know that in the last half or so I've been all about praising your greatness-- in amongst some other slightly less holy language, granted, but really: You put this body together, You know how difficult it is to form sentences in these moments. I'm absurdly grateful for You giving me such a beautiful and caring boyfriend, and in Ohio too, y'know, just to give the Republicans a kick in the teeth...Who says You don't have a sense of humour? Ha ha. So why go and do this, huh? Why?"

"...Stop talking to God, Kurt."

With a heavy sigh, Kurt flips over onto his side, eyeing the broad expanse of Puck's back, which is pretty much all he can see at this angle as the other boy sits hunched at the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

He reaches out, brushing his fingertips gently against his boyfriend's skin: "You know, as far as I'm aware the Jewish community has absolutely no problem with gay guys."

Puck twists round, clearly not pleased with the sarky edge in Kurt's voice:

"Well, guess what: neither do I." He says pointedly, glancing between their naked bodies and all the mussed up sheets. It's not... It's not us, it's just like... Jewish guilt is a total boner killer." He looks terribly unhappy. Over the past couple of months, Kurt's come to learn that one of Puck's most desperate moments in life is the unexpected boner-loss. Puck shakes his head, tortured eyes drifting back over some memories only he can see: "I had a bacon cheeseburger at lunch today. I haven't gone to Temple in months. It's like He was trying to get my attention..."

Kurt props himself up on his elbow, blinking at his slightly ridiculous boyfriend through the mood-lighting. Sure, religion isn't exactly his thing, but: "...Isn't God supposed to be omnipresent anyway?" He reminds Puck bluntly, stretching the cramp out of his legs in the way that generally is very good at catching Puck's attention. "He's watching everything you do, all the time. Everyone you do. He's already totally aware that sometimes you like having my--"

"--Sure," Puck interrupts roughly, gesturing emphatically at the deceptively innocent glow of his iPod still sitting in the dock on the bedside table, "but I don't need a song like that creepin' up on me and making me feel like there's some ol' bearded guy hanging over my shoulder watching me suck off my boyfriend."

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Ok, and I'm pretty sure that God being a pervert doesn't make an appearance in any religion. Look..." He pulls his legs into himself and crawls across the mattress until he can press his mouth to the back of Puck's shoulder, hands curling around his hips. "That song doesn't have great connotations for me either, but it's gone now, and I was really kind of looking forward to tonight..." He nudges at Puck's ear with his nose, pressing his lips softly to his skin. "All those certain--" his breath shivers a bit "--physical pleasures you promised? I kind of expected a little bit more than a teaser-trailer--"

Puck's mouth catches his, kissing him hard, and little sharp bursts of pleasure race up Kurt's spine. He grins to himself, nipping Puck's lip in return and making him growl, pressing his body all up close against the other's back, wrapping his arms around the solid muscle of Puck's well-sculpted chest--

"--It's just... the lyrics..." Puck whispers apologetically, pulling away with panic in his eyes "it's kind of a sad song, and then I'm just thinking, well what if God was one of us? What way round would He--?"

"--Ugh." Kurt falls back spreadeagled on top of the sheets, covering his face with his hands so Puck doesn't see exactly how close he is to weeping. "Okay, even I'm offended now." He proclaims flatly. "Put your clothes on and we'll go watch some kosher Disney movies and kiss without tongues."

Puck, for his part, does look mightily apologetic:

"...Sarah has a copy of The Prince of Egypt on rental...."

"Peachy." Kurt drawls, propping himself up his elbows. He catches Puck gazing down regretfully at Kurt's entirely naked self, and when their eyes meet, Kurt pours every ounce of sardonic reproach he can into his disappointed glower.

"Ok well, how about you fry some latkes while me and my atheism go and have a cold shower?"

As Puck grapples for a reply, Kurt climbs over him to get to the other side of the room, swiping his clothes off the floor as he goes and giving the other boy every opportunity to see what he's missing out on.

When he slams the bathroom door he starts talking to God again, but really not in as pleasant a voice as the last time.


	5. (919): I thidmdmk you'gre a special person

**(919): I thidmdmk you'gre a special person**

Kurt's only staying in his room because he knows if he makes an appearance Finn and Puck will have had enough beer by now to awkwardly try and apologise for earlier, and really, Kurt just  _can't_  deal with their ineptitude right now.

He still has 'Teenage Dream' stuck in his head-- but it's a good deal more half-hearted than before because, as much as meeting Blaine and seeing the Dalton Academy Warblers has been a definite high-point in an otherwise horrifying day, he's come a little bit off his earlier giddiness and really, Blaine wasn't singing at  _him_. He's just a really good male lead: very charismatic; very good at... audience involvement. And Kurt is a little bit pathetic and leaps on any tiny sign of affection that may even possibly be aimed in his direction.

He runs a frustrated hand back through his damp hair, releasing a comforting tang of citrusy conditioner. He wonders if Karofsky can smell all these girly smells on him when he gets up close and tries to slam his head off lockers. Probably. They probably get his tiny dinosaur brain all confused and make him even more mad.

All in all, between the yelling and the crying and the feather boas, it has not been a hugely successful day for Kurt's ice-queen persona, and he wonders what the odds are of him catching a cold if he goes to sleep without drying his hair first and having to take the rest of the week off.

Kurt's phone pings loudly, startling Kurt out of his thoughts and making his heart leap into his throat at the idea that it might be Blaine. For a minute he just stares at it; then he goes over and swipes it off the desk, dropping down onto the corner of his bed.

He has to take a couple of breaths before he can bring himself to look at it. But Kurt feels his heart sink when he reads the name:

It's not Blaine. It's Noah Puckerman.

Rolling his eyes at Puck's insensitivity at getting his hopes up, Kurt clicks through to his text. His fingers are still shaking a bit.  _Fuck_ , he is such a wreck today.

_I thidmdmk you'gre a special person._

Kurt stares. Reads the mangled words extra carefully. Blinks.

What?

_I think you're a special person._

He stares some more. Then he grips his phone tight in his shaky fingers and rests his forehead against it, dragging air in through his teeth in a futile attempt not to weep like a girl.

 _Stupid Puck_. He think, unbelievably fondly.  _Stupid asshole Puck_.

His tears start dripping off his chin, but he doesn't bother to wipe them away. He stares at the stupid message again, now all fuzzy with tear-blotches.

 _Stupid, stupid Puck_.

He lays his phone down on top of the covers, pulling his knees up to his chest and letting his tears soak wet patches into his pyjamas.

Maybe he  _does_  have someone else fighting his corner after all, he thinks, tentatively, like he's jinxing it just by daring to hope. Maybe New Directions  _will_  have his back. Ok, so Rachel Berry might not be the most intimidating, but he bets she's a biter; and Mercedes may have Christian principles, but she's not above a good knee to the groin. Finn will be there for him in a crunch, he's sure; and if even  _Puck_  can stand beside him as a friend...

Kurt curls up against his pillows. Maybe he  _can_  get through this.

He fights to keep Karofsky's horrifying face out of his head; the acrid, sweaty smell of him making the fear spike in Kurt's stomach.

Blaine held his hand today; a boy he's never even met before held his hand and told him he wasn't alone. And here Puck goes, the last person Kurt would expect to have on his side,  _proving_  it.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Maybe he wil get through this.

Tomorrow  _will_  be better.


	6. (810): I was going to make out with him...then he licked syrup off the kitchen floor.

**(810): I was going to make out with him...then he licked syrup off the kitchen floor.**

Waffles are the best post-weed food  _ever_.

"Look, look, look!" Puck pats Kurt's knee frantically to get his attention, as the slow, sticky stream of maple syrup trickles from the bottle to pool serenely in the little grid of waffle squares, overflowing the sugary walls and filling the entire surface of the waffle with sweet, gooey yummyness.

Wow. Some of the these words Kurt hasn't used since pre-school.  _Gooey yuminess_? That's  _so_  unsophisticated.

Kurt chuckles vaguely at his own inner monologue; then,  _ohhh_ : he shakes his head a bit, clearing his vision. Stop staring at the waffle squares. Too many waffle squares.

Hee,  _waffle squares_.

"I love the colour." Kurt breathes, with the same amount of contentedness usually associated with orgasms and weather chilly enough to justify scarves. He dips his finger tentatively into a syrupy square and watches with fascination at how the liquid clings to his skin. No wonder Puck goes on about waffles so much. Waffles are _beautiful_. "What do you call that colour, huh, what do you  _call_  that..?"

"Really sexy." Puck answers from the other side of their little two-man huddle on the kitchen floor; and Kurt is giggling before he realises Puck is staring kind of enraptured at the golden beads of syrup trickling down the length of Kurt's index finger.

 _Oh_.

Kurt studies the other boy for a moment. Puck's eyes are normally greeny-brown, a very pretty hazelly colour (Kurt knows; he's looked before, because Puck is  _hot_ ) but right now they're all black. Kurt guesses it's all the weed.

He glances back down at his hand. Then, deciding there is only really one sensible thing to do, he wordlessly offers it to Puck.

Puck stares at him for a long moment, clearly puzzled. Then, in one long easy movement-- like he's done something similar many times before-- he takes hold of Kurt's wrist, leans over, and runs his tongue all up the outside of Kurt's finger, catching all the sticky beads of syrup, before taking the whole digit into his mouth.

Kurt's mouth forms a little 'o' of interest, his eyes locked on Puck's as the other boy sucks gently on his finger for a moment before slowly pulling off again. His lips leave Kurt's skin with a tiny 'pop'.

All at once, Kurt's body is tingling all over.

Weed is  _really cool_.

"Thankyou..." He whispers, as Puck's tongue laps once more at his fingertip; because it never hurts to be polite.

Their eyes have never left each other. As Kurt watches, Puck presses his lips together, removing the last of the stickiness, and it occurs to him that Puck's warm, soft mouth probably tastes all mapley syrupy now too, like the waffles.

He should check.

Realising Puck's fingers are still wrapped around his wrist, Kurt tries to pull his hand back to himself. But Puck is not for letting go. In fact (making his heart pound a little faster) Puck goes  _exactly_  where Kurt tugs him, leaning in closer and forcing Kurt back against the cupboard door, his other hand settling high on Kurt's thigh, ignoring the waffles between them.

Fighting the urge to giggle again, Kurt lets his eyes flutter closed, breath catching as Puck's hand continues its upward explorations; and he can just feel the tip Puck's nose graze his, and the soft press of his top lip, when--

"-- _Shit_."

As one, the two boys look down; watch the really pretty coloured maple syrup glugging in a sticky pool across the floor.

"Oh..." Kurt pouts mournfully, and Puck glances at him. Then he glances back at the sticky syrup spillage.

For a minute, neither of them really know what to do. Then-- with all the efficiency and enthusiasm of a labrador-- Puck leans over and licks a long, clean stripe through the centre of the mapley floor-polish.

When he turns and grins back at Kurt, Kurt can see how the syrup stretches between his teeth. Maybe there are some dust bunnies stuck in there too.

All Kurt can do is grimace.

 _So close_ , he thinks ruefully as he climbs unsteadily back to his feet.  _So_ , so  _close_.


	7. (778): I was sleeping on the bathroom floor and thought a wet towel might keep me warm.

**(778): I was sleeping on the bathroom floor and thought a wet towel might keep me warm.**

Puck steps into the bathroom, and almost faceplants tripping over the sopping damp pile of somebody curled up in the middle of the floor.

"Fuck,  _Hummel_?" He slurs, fighting to make his mouth work. He recognises Kurt's crazy post-sex hair poking out from the end of the big purple towel he's draped over himself; one arm sticking out and his fingers curled tightly round the floor rug.

(Not that Puck personally knows what Kurt's post-sex hair looks like; but he knows fine enough that it was fighting with Blainers post-kinkytiemz that ended up with one of them storming downstairs to filch an entire bottle of wine at two-thirty this morning).

Kurt mumbles something unintelligable and tries to curl the towel tighter round himself before his brain kicks in and he realises he's not anywhere near being in a nice, warm fluffy bed.

Puck smirks slowly to himself; oh god he wishes to anything he had his phone with him to record this shiny piece of post-party blackmail.

"Hummel." He repeats, louder, settling himself on the edge of the bathtub, and Kurt makes a whining noise.

"Wha... whattisis...?"

"Yo. You're on the floor dude. In the bathroom."

He watches as Kurt prises his eyes open, hand instinctively coming up to hide his face from the unexpected fluroescenet light. As he shifts, Puck bites his lip.

He might be kinda blasted right now, but there's somethings he's just like,  _hardwired_  to notice.

"Kurt...You naked under there?"

Kurt freezes like a squirrel. Despite being obviously still more than a little bit wasted, his face goes instantly beetroot-coloured, and Puck grins as he watches those big hazy blue eyes flick down, then up, then down, then back up again to meet Puck's, coloured with pure horror.

"Turn away." Kurt snaps, sounding way more like himself.

"Whatever dude, it's not like I'm--"

"Turn. Away."

They stare at each other for a moment; but Puck is totally not gonna make a big deal out of seeing Hummel naked, so he just lets himself slip back down into the tub and crosses his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.

The tiny little squeak Hummel lets out a few seconds later pretty much confirms his suspicions.

"At least you got that towel." Puck reminds him casually.

Kurt snorts in displeasure. Then:

"Could you not like,  _go_?"

Puck lifts his head again, and Kurt scrabbles to get back to his feet and finish tying the towel around his waist at the same time:

"And not stare." He adds angrily. "Can you go and just,  _stop staring_?"

Oh, this is way too much fun.

Puck grins his best shit-eating grin:

"I need to piss."

Kurt eyes flutter like he's a computer going into meltdown: " _What_?"

"My bathroom." Puck reminds him langrously. "I need to piss. Why do you think I came in here?"

Kurt looks like he's about to cry. Puck thinks, he really should stop messing with him. Maybe. Sometime.

Kurt turns his head towards the half-open doorway. Somehow, the entire movement is filled with dread.

"...You didn't happen to notice any of my clothes on your travels, did you?"

"Guessin' they're on the floor in Sarah's room."

Kurt narrows his eyes.

"That's where I found your hobbit." Puck explains, and Kurt sighs heavily through his teeth.

"...Any idea what we were yelling about?" He asks, kind of hopelessly.

Puck shrugs: "Sorry dude. Kinda stopped listening when you stopped panting and speaking French in your whore voice."

Kurt tips his head back against the wall, and Puck winces as his skull cracks off the plaster.

"Again: at least you have the towel."

Kurt glowers at him for a long moment; but he seems resigned to his fate. Puck doesn't atually get what he's fussing about-- he's woken up in way worse places with way fewer options for covering himself up.

"Hey, you could even climb on into the tub here with me and really get Warbler-boy's jelously goin'."

"Ugh,  _Puck_." Kurt rolls his eyes, and seems to make up his mind, reaching out to pull the bathroom door open.

He gets one step out into the hallway before Puck's foot stood on the tail of the sopping towel yanks the whole thing away from his body, and Hummel lets out a sound like a shot parakeet.

" _Puck_!!"

He legs it down the hall, and Puck can't resist sticking his head out and catching a glimpse of that pert ass and lithe, muscular thighs and think,  _fuck_ , Hummel's grown-up since football, before slamming the bathroom door and turning on the shower.

 


	8. (541): I didnt realize my nipple ring fell out until he coughed it up.

**(541): I didnt realize my nipple ring fell out until he coughed it up.**

Kurt's been coughing with increasing violence for over ten minutes before Puck comes sauntering up the stairs, minus his left sock and with his shirt hanging limply unbuttoned around his shoulders. In her head, Rachel tuts; wonders who it is who's been attending to his abandonment issues this evening. She's fairly sure Quinn must know better by this point.

"Noah." She greets cooly.

Puck jerks his chin, resting his shoulder drunkenly against the wall:

"'Sup Berry?" He says, sounding far more lucid than anyone else does at this moment in time. Rachel would almost be impressed, if it weren't for the fact it's  _Noah Puckerman_.

She crosses her arms primly over her chest:

"I'm afraid you can't get into the bathroom at the moment, Noah: you'll have to go downstairs."

Puck stares back at her, unamused:

"I need a whizz." he explains charmingly.

Rachel smiles tightly back at him. "Try downstairs."

"Is Kurt in there?" Puck guesses, and without waiting for a reply he elbows her out of the way, rapping his knuckles against the bathroom door:

"Kurt? Hey, open up-- stop tweezing your eyebrows, some of us are manning the floodgates here."

Another unattractive coughing fit begins once more from Kurt's side of the door, and Puck jerks away, looking perturbed.

Rachel smiles sardonically at him:

"I really think it would be better if you went downstairs." She says again. Then, more seriously: "Although my knowledge of transmutable food poisens isn't extensive, I'm worried he may have contracted some form of Botulinum from that rancid pizza you were divvying up earlier--"

But she's interrupted by the sound of the tap-water running at full blast, then the click of the lock as Kurt yanks the bathroom door open and appears in the doorway, gazing morosely at the two of them with watery eyes and flushed, pink cheeks.

Rachel is immeditely concerned.

"Kurt, sweetie, are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital, you look a little feverish--"

"-- _You_." Kurt interrupts, eyes landing on Puck's mildly unconscious form, propped against the doorframe. Strangely, as their eyes meet, a smirk seems to push its way across Puck's mouth:

"Hummel. Something got caught in your throat?"

Rachel curls a hand round Kurt's elbow, leaning round so both of them can see how serious she's taking this:

"As I said, I think it may be a case of botulinum--"

"--Gotta be careful what you swallow." Puck continues, and Kurt narrows his eyes in irritation.

Then, before Rachel can stop him, Kurt pulls free of her grip, wraps his arms tight around Puck's neck, and leans up to kiss the other boy full on the mouth.

Rachel clutches at the wall to keep from dropping into a dead faint:

" _Kurt_!"

"...S'okay." He assures her serenely, as he pulls away from Puck's broad, bare chest. Then he reaches into the pocket of his jeans, and pulls out some tiny, glimmering little object, holding it up like lost treasure between them.

Puck frowns for a second, still a bit dazed from Kurt's mouth-to-mouth sneak attack; then his eyes go wide with reocgnition:

"Hey, that's my--"

Kurt grins a grin made of pure wickedness, and Rachel realises the tiny object he has in his hand was last seen in Puck's nipple.

"Wait;" She points between them "how did you--?"

Kurt ignores her; he has eyes only for Puck.

"Want it back?" He challenges, in a low, husky voice that can only be a result of all the coughing. Then, before either Rachel or Puck can say anything, he slips the tiny gold ring over the tip of his tongue, curls his tongue back into his mouth, and flounces off down the hallway.

Puck and Rachel stare after him.

" _Fuck_..." Puck breathes, and Rachel's head snaps round:

"When I left you two you you were watching  _The Lion King_!" She reminds him accusingly.

Puck drags his eyes away from Kurt's retreating form. He holds out his hands and shrugs, grinning widely:

"Hey. That death scene is  _way_  traumatic." 


	9. (515): I love the "adulterer" look on you. It's hot. (407): Its part of my fall instant classic line.

Kurt's never really given half a thought to looking 'sexy'. Sexy isn't for boys like him. Not in Ohio anyways. No, Kurt breaks the mould in so many places his clothes have always served to cover up as much of him as possible, giving the other boys the minimum of chances to poke fun at his scrawny figure.

But Puck thinks he's sexy.

Kurt bites his lip:  _Puck_  thinks he's sexy. He's said it out loud more than once, and said it so many times with his eyes it's uncountable. He says it with his hands when he touches him, tracing the lines and planes of Kurt's body with impatient, practiced palms and strong fingers. His body says it when they're both stripped of clothing and curled naked around each other and Puck is biting Kurt's shoulder and coming inside him.

Kurt closes his eyes and leans his elbows against the dresser table, trying to steady his breathing through his teeth. He's not used to feeling sexy.

He sits himself down in his basket chair and idly shadows in the outside corners of his eyes with a tiny bit of eye pencil. He doesn't actually wear alot of make-up these days-- he's found enough confidence that he doesn't need it and anyways, his skin's recovered a bit from its early puberty breakouts. But a little bit of eye-liner still goes a long way. He dabs a tiny bit of concealer on his chin where it's needed, slicks some Lip Venom over his lips and feels ready to go.

Aside from his clothes of course.

He dresses far more simply than he used to. Having the attention of a boy like Puck-- the kind of boy he never thought he could have; the kind of boy he used to fantasise about with equal parts lust and terror-- he finally feels prepared to have people look at  _him_  instead of just being bedazzled by the stunning shirt he's wearing.

He pulls on a pair of black skinny jeans with a delicate pinstripe that does nice things to his thigh muscles, grateful for all the dance practice that has sloughed away the puppy fat he used to despair over. He enjoys that reflection for a moment, before shrugging into one of his Paul Smith shirts and doing up all the buttons save the top two, thinking he'll add a neckscarf later for interest (and also for Puck, who every now and again tells him to keep it on even though he's divested everything else, and Kurt would be lying if he said that didn't appeal to his kinky side.)

He's just doing up his cuffs when he hears the doorbell go downstairs and, after a minute, Carole getting up to answer it. Kurt glances at himself in the mirror again. He wonders if it's too much. If it's too obvious.

But he puts it out of his head, smiling a little to himself as he hears a sudden new, familiar voice chatting with Carole and his dad. He leans over to tap his iPod on, giving himself something to distract himself with, and act a little more aloof and laissez-faire.

Aloof is another thing he's getting good at. It drives Puck out of his mind.

After a moment, there comes familiar footsteps on the stairs and a knock at his door:

"Knock, knock."

Kurt rolls his eyes, licking his lips a little in anticipation as he gets up to pull the door open.

"You don't have to knock you know, it's very unlikely you'll see anything that will surprise you."

Blaine's leaning against the doorframe, smile itching the corner of his mouth as his eyes land on Kurt. He shrugs, stepping over the threshold and sliding his arms around his boyfriend's waist.

"I know. But I'm polite. Did you know that about me? I'm stunningly polite."

Kurt grins, rubbing their noses briefly together before turning his head and letting their lips meet.

"Hey baby." He breathes in return, feeling the hair on his arms standing on end at the thrill of having yet another warm, eager body pressed against his. "And yes, I did know. But every now and again maybe you should just be crazy and take me by surprise."

He says it with a smile; but Blaine doesn't miss the insinuation. Kurt feels his heart throb a little faster as the other boy tugs him closer, teasing Kurt's lips with his own for a moment before their kiss deepens and Kurt leans back against the wall, dragging his boyfriend with him.

Blaine breaks away for air, and Kurt congratulates himself on another excellent outfit as the other boy's eyes rake down his body:

"God, when did you get so hot?"

Kurt smacks him sharply on the behind.

"Thanks gorgeous."

"You know I'm kidding." Blaine murmurs in return, leaning in to lick at the soft skin behind Kurt's ear-lobe.

Kurt closes his eyes, giving himself over to the waves of pleasure already starting to build. He tries not to say names anymore, 'cos he knows he'll get mixed up, but  _God baby please that's it like that_  seems to work for everyone.

He thinks of Puck's hands on him earlier this morning; his mouth. He bites his lip and gives himself of brief moment of pretending they're both here: Puck's hands gripping tight at his hips and Blaine's lips against his neck, and the danger of everything that he's doing now, the danger of Blaine finding out, the danger of  _ruining everything_ , is nothing compared to the thrill of it.

According to his lovers, 'cheating bitch' might be his best look yet. 


	10. (313): my mom just informed me that i masturbate loudly

**(313): my mom just informed me that i masturbate loudly**

Puck hops to the door with one leg refusing to get in his boxers, scrabbling to reach the door handle before his mom turns it and comes in and sees--

" _Mom_..."

In a last ditch effort, he hurls his body between the door and the wall, puffing up to his full height like one of those spiny puffer-fish things hoping Ma will be too busy yelling at his face to look down at his boner half-in and half-out of his shorts.

It works.

"-- _Noah_!" His mom hisses, nostrils flaring like half an inch from his. "Your  _sister_  is in the next room! She is  _one wall away_  from you, and she is  _eleven_ \--"

Puck throws his hands up:

"--Mom, what the hell? I wasn't  _doing_  any--"

"-- _Don't_." She says in her Terrifying Mom voice, holding a finger up between them like a threat of nuclear destruction. "Don't pull any of that with me Noah-- you've clearly been doing enough  _pulling_  for one morning--"

What. The actual. Hell? Puck almost gags, jamming the heels of his hands into his eyes:

"Aw,  _mom_!"

"If you want to be crass, I'll be crass!" His mom retorts, crossing her arms tight over her chest. She darts a hasty look over her shoulder before her voice drops to a deathly whisper: "Look, masturbating is just a thing that teenage boys do Noah, I understand."

Instantly, Puck knows he'll never be able to hear the word 'masturbate' again without hearing it in his mother's voice.

"All teenagers want to...  _enjoy_  their bodies--"

Puck whimpers

"--and heaven knows I'd rather you were playing with yourself than engaging in anymore  _pre-marital sex_ ; but Sarah is asking me if you've  _hurt yourself_ , Noah! If you're sad, or if you're angry, because all she can hear through the night is the sound of you grunting and gasping and..."

"--Mom, I get it, ok," Puck blurts, light-headed from all blood rushing straight up from his cock into his face: "I'm  _sorry_ \--"

"--And there is  _no need_  for that volume Noah." His mom continues-- clearly she's been bottling this since Hannukah. "Some nights, even  _I_  can hear you from the kitchen! Do you think I want to hear that? Do you think I want to hear my little boy--"

"--Ma, stop--"

"--What am I meant to say to that, huh? What am I meant to say to your sister?"

Puck shrugs, grimicing: "Tell her I had the tube on or something, ok?"

"What if she walked in on you Noah? How would you explain yourself?"

Well, luckily she's already given him the answer to that one:

"I'd tell her I'm  _enjoying my body_ , ma." Puck drawls, and his mom is not impressed. But she just lets out a sigh like Puck's the total bane of her existence.

"Just..." She fixes him with one beady eye: "keep it in the shower ok? At least then you can clean up after--"

" _Mom_!" Puck gasps. he does not need to know his mom thinks about... "Fuck, I'm  _sorry_  okay? No more jacking off during bedtime hours."

"And don't you use that language with me!"

"Ok, ok." Puck's hand grips tight at the edge of the door; he just wants this over: "I'm sorry. No more orgasms under this roof, ok? Happy?"

"Think of your sister Noah!--"

Puck slams the door, collapsing back against it, and doesn't shift until he hears her long, angry footsteps stride away back down the stairs.

Well. Talk about a mood-killer.

To be honest though, he's kinda surprised it's taken her this long to say somthing. It's not like he hasn't been beating off in his bedroom since he discovered how good his penis could fit in a sports sock.

He chances a regretful glance downwards at his boxers. No chance of that now: his dick is sulking. Nothing like unexpected mom-time to scare away a boner.

Puck sighs heavily, looking up and gazing round his shit-hole of a room. As he does, it begins to dawn on him that something is missing.

He narrows his eyes, peering through the musty morning light filtering through his half-drawn curtains:

"...Yo."

Kurt pops his head up from behind the bed, resting his arms on Puck's rumpled, sweaty duvet:

"That was genuinely the most hilarious conversation I have ever been naked for."


	11. (206): If you liked it then you shoulda put your dick in it, oh uh uh oh

**(206): If you liked it then you shoulda put your dick in it, oh uh uh oh**

When he gets to the locker room, of  _course_  Hummel's still there-- 'Cos God can be an ass like that sometimes.

As warning, Puck pushes the door hard enough that it bounces off the wall, and Hummel pretty much leaps out of his skin, clutching his man-purse to his chest.

He's changed out of his uniform, back into his normal clothes. Which actually are kind of normal clothes, for Hummel: stupid tight jeans and boots and some fluffy hooded thing with zippers that don't look like they even do anything.

Not that Puck's looking.

Their eyes don't even meet. Puck yanks his shirt over his head, making a beeline straight for his locker pretty much on smell alone.

He can feel Kurt's gaze on him all the way there. It makes him angry, and Puck doesn't even properly know why.

"Got something to say, Hummel?" He grates, deciding to skip a shower and grabbing his can of Axe. He presses down hard on the top, trying to spary deoderant in the most intimidating way possible.

There's silence for a moment, and Puck can't help himself from turning round:

"Well?"

It kind of shakes him that Kurt's eyes are still glittering; that even with Puck snarling at him, his cheeks are all flushed pink, and he's shifting from foot to foot, just high on  _winning_  something for the first time in his goddamn life.

Puck feels it too.

Hummel runs his tongue over his lips:

"Well. I don't suppose you'd like to admit that learning how to move more like an, and I quote: 'Amazonian Black Woman' helped you win a football game?"

Puck rolls his eyes:

"Fuck off Hummel,  _you_  helped us win a football game." He replies-- and then totally has a blackout 'cos woah  _what now_?

They stare at each other for a moment; and Puck watches Kurt's eyes go all wide like he remembers them doing the first time he and the guys chased him home in the second week of freshman year.

Looking at them kind of makes Puck's throat close-up.

Kurt searches dumbly for a retort: "I--"

"Look." Puck nudges his locker door out of the way and takes a step closer in Hummel's direction. The kid is making a crazy effort not to notice Puck's nipple piercing and it's kind of hilarious.

"You fucked 'em right up." Puck admits, and holds up his hand for a high five.

Hummel just looks at him for a moment. Then, tentatively, he lifts his hand and smacks Puck's palm with his.

"...Thanks."

It goes weirdly quiet round them for a minute, and Puck feels something like the same snakes in his belly he gets everytime he looks at Quinn since she told him, and he has to clench his jaw not to say anymore stupid stuff. Kurt's eyes tick down to the floor, and Puck takes it as a get-out and turns away, burying his head in his locker again, digging his teeth into his lip.

He can practically hear Kurt dithering for a minute; then there's the quick stride of his footsteps and the soft thump of the locker room door banging shut behind him.

Puck tries to fake it for a couple of seconds longer. Then he slams his can of Axe down in his locker and swears at himself.

All Puck wants to do is hug him. Hug Hummel like he can do with any other guy in here. Touch him somehow. Any excuse. Take off his shirt again, and that stupid fluffy zippered thing and--

 _Fuck_.

Puck leans his head back against the cold metal, punching his locker door and just managing to dodge back out of the way before it bounces back to hit him in the face.

He wishes he could stop thinking shit like this. He wishes he could stop it.

And he still has that  _fucking song_  in his head.


	12. (270): I'm pretty sure I have a cold now from having sex on the hood of my car in the rain. Worth it? Absolutely.

**(270): I'm pretty sure I have a cold now from having sex on the hood of my car in the rain. Worth it? Absolutely.**

Puck's standing against the hood of Kurt's car, dragging lazily on a cigarette. They're stopped just round the corner from his house 'cos his mom's still pretending not to know he smokes and although he knows it's bullshit, he doesn't want to be totally obnoxious about it. There's no reason for Kurt to stay. But he is, standing beside Puck with his ankles crossed and ostensibly tapping at his iPhone.

Puck doesn't know what the fuck he's typing. It sure don't look like English from where he's standing, and maybe Kurt wasn't being totally honest when he said he'd had  _just one_  of Brittany's garish and lethal atomic pink Cosmopolitans.

"Go home Kurt."

Kurt ignores him; just leans sideways to bump his elbow a little.

"Don't be silly. I can wait."

"For what?" Puck asks; but he answers his own question, plucking the cigarette from between his lips and offering it to the boy beside him.

He's not so much a boy now, really. Neither of them are.

Kurt turns his head serenely towards him. "A thousand times no." He says, with a smile, and Puck flicks ash over his boots.

" _Puuuck_." Kurt whines, and Puck smirks. He'll miss Kurt's tight-ass whinging.

He flicks his cigarette butt away, squashing it with his own sneaker.

"So." He says, breath shaking just a tiny bit. "I guess I'll see ya?"

"Puck, stop." Kurt interrupts, steadying himself with his hands on the hood and twisting around. "There is no way you're giving me a sappy goodbye. I'll never be able to watch you mangle an Alice Cooper song with a straight face again."

Puck laughs. Glee club seems like decades ago already, and it's only been a year. All that stupid high school stuff. The names and the labels...

"Fine." Puck turns round, opening his arms. Kurt looks at him for a second, doing that raised eyebrow, 'no-touchy' face Puck's seen a million times. But then he relents, and smiles tinily, fitting himself against Puck's chest and hugging him back.

They stay like that for long minutes. Tiny drops of rain are starting to freckle Puck's shorn head, and Kurt's the warmest thing for miles.

He feels his chest contrict again and speaks before the booze starts wearing off:

"You're like one of my best friends, y'know."

He feels Kurt's fingers tighten slightly in the back of his t-shirt. He presses his cheek closer against Puck's neck:

"Love you too Noah."

"Well you don't have to go all pansyfied on me."

Kurt snorts, chuckling and pulling away. But Puck doesn't want him to get back in the car; not yet.

Not yet.

The breath chatters through his teeth and Kurt's looking at him, curiously, although not with surprise. His eyes are kind of wider than usual, glinting a weird fairytale amber colour under the streetlamps.

Terrified, Puck holds his hand against Kurt's neck, then leans in to kiss him.

Kurt kisses him back. And again, and again, swapping tiny kisses as the rain starts to drip down Kurt's hair and through Puck's fingers.

The rest of the world seems utterly silent; just raindrops pattering and their breath getting quicker against each other's mouths and the sound of their goodbyes. 


	13. (573): There's always time for handjobs

**(573): There's always time for handjobs**

"...Last chorus."

"How...How can you even  _hear_  that?"

"Shhh..."

Puck parts his legs a little further, and Kurt presses closer, gripping harder, speeding up as Finn and Rachel hurtle towards the end of their number. Kurt is good at this. Fuck he is so,  _so_  good...

Puck tightens his grasp on Kurt's hip, thudding his head back against the curtain-covered wall as he fights to stay upright.

"God, yeah,  _yes_ , Kurt...  _yes_..."

"Shhh..." Kurt bites gently at his neck, breath hot against skin, and Puck is so,  _so_  close--

"...Wait."

Wait.  _What_?

Puck's eyes flutter open, and he just glimpses the tiny frown colouring Kurt's features before the other boy drops out of view; and all at once, instead of that sure, soft hand gripped tight around him, Puck feels delicious, hot, wet, _unmistakable_  suction and--

" _Oh God, oh God..._ " Puck gasps soundlessly, twining his fingers in the back of Kurt's hair as he gives two more awkward thrusts and comes hard into Kurt's sweet, perfect mouth, hips jerking pathetically as the waves of his orgasm rattle up his spine.

_"...Or will we always be pretending?"_

Puck feels Kurt swallow, and forces back a moan of his own as the other boy pulls off him, knowing there's really no time for pleasantries as Rachel and Finn's voices fade. Dazedly, Puck tucks himself back into his pants and zips up again with fumbling fingers, body buzzing all over with new,  _way more fun_  adrenaline.

"Fuck, Kurt," He murmurs breathlessly "what was--?"

"--Shhh!"

All at once Kurt's hand is clapped hard over his mouth. Puck stares; the other boy's eyes have suddenly widened to worrying proportions:

"... Something's wrong."

 _Damn straight something's wrong_ , Puck thinks, head spinning:  _you just voluntarily had my dick in your mouth_.

But then he hears it too: that deathly silence rolling over the auditorium.

Puck's breath catches in his chest. People couldn't have heard them. They  _couldn't_  have; he was totally keeping the volume down...

But then it passes. The clapping begins at last, just a few hands at first and then rippling through the whole auditorium.

Knowing they only have a couple of seconds, Puck tugs Kurt close, one hand tight in his shirt and the other in his hair, breathing hard against his shoulder.

"God I'm glad you're back." Puck murmurs against his ear as the applause drowns him out: "...Regionals was a killer."

Kurt's smirk tugs against Puck's skin: "I don't even wanna know."

They pull away from each other as the clapping dies, and the footsteps of all the others hurrying to place starts to shake the floorboards under their feet.

Puck is freakin'  _oozing_  zen now. Fuck you, pre-show nerves.

"C'mon losers, let's rock it..." Lauren drawls as she marches past, and Kurt closes his eyes, looking like he's marshalling himself to not laugh.

Puck glances down and checks his shirt's all the way back in his pants; double-checks. Kurt snatches a bottle of water and leans over to press a hard, daring kiss to Puck's lips, and Puck startles a bit 'cos, oh: Kurt tastes of him now.

Something occurs to him:

"It was just because we're wearing black, right?"

"It was just because we're wearing black." Kurt assures him, even as he reaches over to fix Puck's belt buckle.

_"Ladies and Gentlemen: we're the New Directions!"_

Kurt smirks at him, eyes glittering:

"Let's knock 'em dead."


	14. (404): He dodged my hug and greeted me with a fist bump. I slept with him the night before. The only thing worse would have been a greeting by chest bump.

**(404): He dodged my hug and greeted me with a fist bump. I slept with him the night before. The only thing worse would have been a greeting by chest bump.**

It happenes so quickly that no-one quite sees what Puck does that makes Kurt's heavy-lidded gaze turn demonic in half a second flat. But suddenly Mercedes finds herself with an armful of takeaway coffee and half-nibbled blueberry muffin and Kurt is standing the middle of the lobby hollering:

"Hey!  _Puckerman_."

Puck has not gone far, and he spins round, raising his eyebrows at the pitch of Kurt's voice:

"...Wassup Kurt?"

Kurt's jaw tightens. But when he speaks his voice has gone all satiny:

"Say," He takes a few nonchalent steps closer "you look a little pale this morning?"

"Yeah." Puck returns flatly. "Cuz it's  _morning_."

"Did you not sleep well?"

"I slept like a baby. Ask Finnessa."

Kurt scoffs: "Oh please-- you and Finn haven't shared a room in days. He and Rachel have been too busy pawing at each other's naked bodies like concussed labradors."

Rachel almost faceplants the carpet: "Kurt--!"

"-- _Nobody_  needs to know how appetising you think his nipples would be as  _dessert toppers_!"

Tina, never one to ignore a scandal, isn't distracted by the impending diva-off:

"Wait," She says, pointing between the glowering boys: "if Finn was in Rachel's room..."

Mike finishes: "Where did Kurt go?"

And now no-one can ignore how pale Puck's face is, as Kurt just  _smirks_ :

"Puck and I had an... arrangement."

"Not cool, dude!" Puck protests, but Kurt isn't cowed:

"Oh, I'm sure it's just about the right level of  _cool_  for a 'dude' who thinks the  _South Park_  soundtrack is an appropriate addition to the sex playlist."

New Directions gasp in perfect, harmonised synchrony. Mr Schuester would be proud.

"You slept with  _Kurt_?" Quinn demands.

Kurt smiles at her: "We engaged in kinky nocturnal pleasures, yes."

"But Puck's not--"

"Don't jump in so quick Sam; you're not convincing anyone."

"Oh, wow." Santana comments dryly, pushing herself away from the wall she was lazily leaning against. "This shit just got real."

Feeling the net closing in, Puck's gestures sharply round at the assembled group:

"We didn't... we didn't--"

"Noah," Kurt warns "don't make me do this."

"We were just... we were just foolin' around--"

Kurt crosses his arms:

"There's two condoms in your wallet. And one empty wrapper you keep in there to remind you you need to re-stock."

Santana, Brittany, Quinn, Rachel and Sam's eyes all widen in recognition. Puck seems to notice and is not pleased.

"Well I totally  _do_  need to re-stock  _now_  since  _somebody_  insists on keeping it gloved up even for freakin'  _oral_!"

Kurt waves a hand at the assembled competitors: "We're finalists at a  _singing competition_  Noah!"

"Though guess I shouldn't complain," Puck interrupts "since my dick probably needs all the protection it can get from your sharp-as-fuck vampire teeth! Already been circumcised once dude!"

"Well I sure didn't  _hear_  any complaining, or maybe I was misinterpreting the ' _ooh baby, in heaven everyone will have a mouth like yours'_ , thing."

"Wow. So he really never got the hang of sexy-talk, huh?"

Puck ignores Santana's snarking.

"Well maybe you didn't hear it 'cos you were too busy  _yapping the whole entire fucking time_! We're not performing for the blind school Kurt-- I know where my dick is, I don't need  _audio description_!!"

"Well I can sure think of a coupla places you couldn't find without a printout from  _Google Streetview_!"

Artie flinches "Ouch."

"Guys come on, chillout." Finn flails ineffectually. But neither of them are listening anymore:

"You kicked me in the  _sack_ , dude."

Kurt holds up a finger: "I believe I warned you about the tickling."

Puck bats him away: "You didn't warn me about your allergy to  _sweet, loving caresses_."

"You  _high-fived_  me post-coitus!"

"You were singing  _The Sound of Music_  so you could keep the fucking rythmn!"

"So  _you_  could keep the fucking rythmn!"

"Biter." Puck accuses, pulling his shirt back and brandishing a ravished shoulder.

Kurt rolls his eyes: "Crier."

"Drama-queen."

Kurt reaches up and pushes an obnoxious hand through Puck's mohawk: "Hair- _fetishist_."

"Bossy little fucking--"

But it's cut off as Puck finally gives in and grabs Kurt's hips, pushing him back into the wall and attacking his mouth with the kind of gusto usually associated with Breadstix' All-You-Can-Eat Pasta Tuesday.

New Directions stare. The other showchoir competitors milling about the lobby barely bat an eyelid, clearly used to dramatic outbursts on finals day.

Santana lifts her ponytail away from her neck, fanning her face as Kurt's fingers start to dig nail-crescents into the back of Puck's spine. She may be a closet lesbian, but hell: those are two very pretty boys.

She rests her head contentedly on Brittany's shoulder: "Just... _Wanky_." 


	15. (407): You know, I really only think drinking is a problem if you're not good at it.

**(407): You know, I really only think drinking is a problem if you're not good at it.**

"You take him."

All Puck wanted was another beer. That was it. But instead, he suddenly finds himself with a chest-ful of weepy, clingy Kurt Hummel.

"What the--?"

"--Oh god you're so warm," Kurt mumbles, nuzzling closer into his shirt. "You're so warm and lovely and  _warm_..."

Puck stares around, but girl-Chang has already made her getaway, weaving through the crowd towards the last drippy remains of Brittany's chocolate fountain.

"Dude." Puck tries his best to avoid hugging him back; hugging is so not helpful for his bad-boy stage presence. "What... What's the dope?"

It's enough to make Kurt glance up, wrinkling his nose in confusion. This close, Puck can see how flushed his cheeks are:

"...Do you have any?"

"What, dope?"

Kurt's eyes start watering again, and his face disappears again into the enclave of Puck's chest: "Blaine used to wear thaaaat..."

It's Puck's turns to look incredulous: "Uh, I don't think so..." He pats gingerly at Kurt's back. Clearly the kid has gone mad with post-breakup grief.

"...Sure he did, too much of it and I teased him  _aaall_  the time but his hair always looked so shiny and perfec' like his face would be on pretty posters all over town an' e'rybody looooved him--"

"--Frodo used to wear  _Dep_." Puck realises, rolling his eyes "Dep; hairgel. Not  _dope_."

Kurt whacks him mulishly across the arm:

"Don' call him that..."

Oh God.

Puck rolls his eyes, wrapping his arms around Kurt's limp body and pulling them both down onto the decking before Hummel trips over his own melancholy. Finn just misses tripping over  _him_ , side-stepping blindly on his way to the chimenea.

"What did you do to him?" He asks, staring down at them and looking scandalised:

"Fuck off Herman Munster," Puck snaps back "shouldn't  _you_  have been keepin' an eye on your designated driver?"

Why does everyone always think  _he's_  the one who makes all the girls cry?

Confused, Finn stumbles off, and Puck makes a face at him behind his back, tugging Kurt closer and stroking his hair. "..Wan' another wine cooler?" Puck offers, kinda helplessly.

"Boys suck." Kurt returns, and Puck snorts.

"...Why can't they ever just talk? Why can't they ever just  _talk_  and tell you when things are bad? I'm not psychic I'm not  _psychic_  Puck, why don't boys talk about their feelings?"

"'Cos feelings are for girls."

"But I don't  _like_  girls." Kurt whimpers plaintively.

"No shit." Puck drawls.

"But I loved him Puck." Kurt sniffles gently "I loved  _him_ , and I wanted to make it work, if he'd just said, he could've just told me, all those nights we stayed up talking--"

"Shut up Kurt." Puck interrupts, flushing hard and pressing his nose against the top of Kurt's head.

Kurt does. Which is a fucking miracle.

"...You can do better than that curly-haired bastard anyhow." Puck says roughly.

Kurt's fingers just grip harder at his arm, and, despite himself, Puck starts rocking the other boy gently, squinting over his head at the girls passing round the sparklers and the flames licking hungrily at the logs he and Sam had chopped up earlier.

He really shoulda known better.

"...Oh god, I'm gonna throw up..." Kurt groans, holding a hand over his mouth and pushing himself out of Puck's arms, scrambling once more in the direction of the bathroom.

Puck stares after him, feeling a moment of desertion at the loss of the warmth against his chest, before leaning back and whacking his head hard off the Pierce's patio doors.

 _Fucking lightweights_.


	16. (608): Seriously man, I'm worried that my dick's going to fall off someday if I keep this up...

**(608): Seriously man, I'm worried that my dick's going to fall off someday if I keep this up...**

"What?!"

Puck's nods sagely, and rips another bite of his Slim Jim. He's at the munchie stage now. Slim Jims are epic munchie fodder, and the Hummel-Hudson's frudge just seems to, like, grow them: he's eaten like, forty or something.

Oh, wait, Kurt's talking.

Puck re-focuses.

"... falling asleep in your arms is wonderfully romantic in all kinds of Disney home movie type ways, but when you've spent most of the evening with your tongue in my tonsils and un-doing my flies everytime you walk past you do start to give a guy ideas."

"But baby," Puck argues around a mouthful, "we have sex all the time,  _all_  the time, and my dick just, like, gets way more action than yours does--"

Kurt pushes a hand over Puck's mouth, eyes scanning panicky around the room to see who's eavesdropping. Puck doesn't get why he cares. Everybody knows they're doing it.

"My dick gets plenty of action!"

Puck watches as Kurt closes his eyes, sucking a breath in through his nose and letting it out slowly through his mouth. Eventually he remembers to let Puck go as well.

"Ok." He begins again more quietly "Is there a  _reason_  you think you dick's gonna fall off?"

"I told you, I just--"

"--No, I mean. Do you think you've... caught something? Does it..." Kurt glances down and back up super-fast. "Look different? 'Cos we're always super careful--"

"--Naah, sweetheart, nothin' like that. Just... we had sex, like, a million times yesterday." Puck makes an apologetic face. "I'm kinda... sore."

Kurt, really slowly, raises an eyebrow:

"So you're concerned about everyday wear and tear?"

"Baby, baby, hot stuff, stop being so riled up." Puck wraps his hands around Kurt's face, pressing in to kiss him. But Kurt remains unmoved, and Puck pulls back and makes puppy eyes at him:

"Why are you mad? This is so totally a good thing."

Kurt pouts:

"If you say your lack of libido signals a step forward in the seriousness of our relationship, I want off this heartbreak-mobile. Preferably somewhere near a wine bar and a Gaga concert."

Puck grins. Libido is a fun word. A stupid word, but fun. Kind of like him. Kind of like Puck's libido. Stupid but fun.

Eventually he has to press his face into Kurt's shoulder to stop the gigglng.

"Oh, god, what now?"

"You're so funny, I love you baby, you're so funny...."

"Yeah, yeah, and completely sexually unappealing by the sounds of things--"

"-- oh no, you're way appealing. So appealing. Baby I am so appealed to you all the fuckin' time..."

Puck tugs Kurt in again, kissing him hard and slow, and actually, Kurt's frosty demeanor doesn't hold up long. His breath starts coming hard and hot against Puck's mouth and Puck shoves a grabby hand up Kurt's shirt, spreading his fingers over his warm, muscled back and yeah; Puck figures it's probs time to shift this to Kurt's bedroom and his crazy fluffy sheepskin rug.

Reluctantly, Puck pulls away, and Kurt whimpers, hand curling against Puck's cheek:

"Puck. Gorgeous." He whispers urgently. "Your dick is not gonna fall off. Please trust me. Let's go to bed, I will be so gentle with you like you wouldn't believe--"

Puck presses a finger to his lips.

"--No no no no Kurt, I don' think it's gonna work. But it's ok. As long as my dick is out of play we can do whatever you want."

Kurt's eyebrows scrunch up in the middle of his forehead.

"... As long as a what-now?"

Puck nods vaguely; starts casting about for another Slim Jim.

"Sure, but there's loadsa other stuff. I wanna do  _loadsa_  stuff to you tonight baby. Wanna peel every piece of your clothes off you, so slowly, it'll make you crazy. Kiss you all over, have my mouth of every inch of you, baby; tease you till you're  _begging_  me; suck you till you can't see straight..." An idea occurs to him "Or you can top. It's been a while and I miss it. Do you still have those handcuffs?

Kurt's mouth has dropped open, and Puck has to try really really hard not to kiss him again.

"... _Ohhhhh_." Kurt says, eyes wide, and Puck smiles, 'cos, yay: that's a sex noise.

"Ok, yes." Kurt says suddenly. "Yes to all of that. And I guess you might need to rest up that hard-working penis of yours for maybe a week or so, if you wanna get back to full... performance standard."

Puck nods, letting Kurt scramble off him and pull him back to his feet.

Yup-- sometimes Puck has to pay the price for being such an all-expenses-paid ten-inch stud-muffin.

But he knew Kurt would understand.


	17. (816): Absence makes the cock grow harder.

  
**(816): Absence makes the cock grow harder.**

Puck strips off and crawls into bed when he can't face another cycle of shitty comedy re-runs. He hasn't changed the sheets since Kurt went away and they still smell like him, which, depending on the night, is either super comforting or super depressing. Tonight it's the latter, but--because Puck's trying to stop pining like an abandoned labradoodle-- after like twenty minutes trying to bore himself to sleep remembering the names of all the Looney Tunes characters and reciting state mottos in his head, Puck gives in and scrabbles at the beside table, dragging his phone to his ear and hitting his speedial.

Kurt picks up on the seventh ring:

"'llo?" He sounds exhausted. Puck scruches further down into his duvet, immediately feeling like an ass.

"Hey baby." He replies sheepishly. "Um. I just uh... Just wanted to say hey."

Miraculously, Puck feels like he can hear Kurt smile at the other end of the line.

"Oh. Ok...Hey." He returns, and Puck grins into his pillow. Then, more sleepily: "...It's two in the morning babe."

Puck takes his phone away from his ear and glances at the screen; frowns, then  _oh_ : time difference.

"Aw baby, I'm sorry I forgot." He thuds his fist against his forehead:  _what a moron_. "I'll call you in the mor--"

"--No, it's... Fine. It's ok. I wasn't asleep anyways." Puck hears a rustling, like Kurt curling himself closer into the duvet. Puck glances at the other untouched side of his own bed, his free hand ghosting over the flat, cool sheets.

"How're you?"

Puck shakes his head: "Honest, I'll call tomorrow--"

"--Shut up, I asked you a question: how are you?"

Puck smiles crookedly at Kurt's grumpy voice.

"I'm cool." He says, shifting over to lie on his back, staring up into the vague, hazy darkness. "Same as, y'know? Just..."

"Just?"

"Missin' you." He snorts. "--Soz babe, I turned into a girl since you've been gone."

Kurt laughs quietly against Puck's ear:

"Oh, I really doubt that..."

Puck presses his lips together, swallowing hard. There's a moment of quiet before he asks:

"...Are you in bed?"

"Again baby, two in the morning." Kurt reminds him fondly.

"Right." Puck rests his hand over his eyes, steadying his breathing a bit:

"...Are you wearing those shorts I like?"

There's a tiny silence. Then Kurt's voice replies:

"The charcoal ones? You like those?"

Puck nods against the phone, fingers brushing against the inside of his own thigh, almost as if he doesn't mean it.

"Yeah. You look so good in them. Your legs go on forever in them." Puck imagines Kurt's legs tangled with his; his thighs squeezing tight around Puck's hips.

"And your Ramones t-shirt. I swiped it from the laundry. Sorry if you were looking for it."

Puck squeezes his eyes shut, pressing the heel of his hand against his hardening cock:

"God I wish you were here." He murmurs. "I wish I was kissing you."

There's a tiny shuffling noise from the other end of the line, and Puck worries that he's roaming into freakish stalker territory. But when Kurt's voice comes back, it sounds closer, and with his eyes closed Puck can almost imagine his boyfriend right there, curled beside him, whispering against his ear:

"...How would you kiss me?"

 


	18. (919): I bet Jafar would keep his hat on during.

**(919): I bet Jafar would keep his hat on during.**

"Do you think he'd top or bottom it?"

"Does it really matter when you're fucking a parrot?"

" _Noah_." Kurt raises chastising eyebrows. "He magicked Jasmine into handcuffs and harem pants. He was clearly into women."

Puck snorts: "Disturbing as fuck... Hottest Disney guy?"

Kurt smiles brightly, pausing mid-manicure to waggle his nail file in Puck's direction:

"Don't tell me you're now going to admit to watching Disney movies?"

Puck only flushes a tiny bit."I have a ten year-old sister. So sue me." He grumbles. "Now go."

"Hmmm..." Kurt's eyes return to his fingernails, shadow appearing between his eyebrows as he thinks. "Not a huge amount of talent out there. Can I have a top three?"

Puck rolls his eyes. He's pretty sure that at some point in his childhood Kurt decreed himself Editor-in-Chief of  _Disney Prince_  magazine, but he keeps that to himself.

"Shoot."

"Flynn Ryder," Kurt supplies immediately, once more pausing in his filing. Apparently this is getting into serious shit now "post attitude-adjustment, obviously. Prince Naveen, post... frog, I guess. Captain Shang, aaand--"

Puck grins, nudging Kurt's knee with his: "--Nuh-uh, you've already had three Hummel, stop being  _greedy_ \--"

"--No, can I have another one? Just one?" Kurt prods him with his nail file until Puck has to swing his legs over to the other end of the sofa, waving for him to continue:

"... Eric from  _The Little Mermaid_. I know, His name is  _such_  a turn-off, and he's a little bit on the gullible side which isn't necessarily a negative thing, but I do like my knives a  _leeeetle_  bit on the sharper side of the cutlery drawer; however, his eyes  _totally_  make up for it."

Puck raises an eyebrow at Kurt's suddenly lax, dreamy face:

"...Not that you've given it much thought."

"Not at all." Kurt replies airily, pulling his legs up to his chest and examining his handiwork. "Your top three, go."

"Dude." Puck protests, reaching over for his solo cup. He pouts at how stupidly empty it is. "I don't look at the  _guys_!"

"I meant top three  _women_ , Noah." Kurt deadpans, bending back over the arm of the sofa to grab the rum bottle so Puck can top up. "This conversation caters for all sexual preferences."

Puck pours, frowning at the glugging liquid as it hits the bottom of his cup. "Uh... I dunno."

"First one that comes to your head."

He squeezes an eye shut, thinking hard:

"...The mouthy chick in  _Hercules_."

"Megara?" Kurt supplies. Puck pretends he has no idea that was her name.

"Sure." He shrugs "She's feisty. I like 'em feisty."

He leers a bit, but Kurt just looks at him, re-possessing the alcohol. Most of his cup was lemonade, but then, it doesn't take much to get Hummel drunk, as Puck seems to have proved time and again this summer.

The other boy sets the bottle carefully back down on the table:

"Riiight. Number two?"

That's easier.

"Jasmine." Puck pronounces proudly, as if he'd actually nailed her. "Handcuffs included; aaaand..." He swirls the rum around his cup till it makes a tiny little whirpool. Grins at it. "...The little mermaid."

Kurt looks surprised: "Even though she's half fish?"

Puck downs his shot of rum, coughs: "Not a problem."

"Sorry, I forgot you were half  _sex-shark_."

"But all that hair though." Puck reiterates, moistening his lips. He likes having hair to run his hands through, to touch, to bury his face in: "And yeah, the big blue eyes...  _God_  she's pretty."

Puck looks up; finds a pair of big, blue pretty eyes blinking back at him.

 _Oh_.

Puck shakes his head, staring down at his cup; looks back up again:

Kurt's gazing at him kind of strangely, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth:

"...You had a bit of a moment there."

Puck stares at him.

"Yeah." He coughs, thinking he should probably lay off the rum now. And the Cheez-Its. And the Disney. "God, where's Finn." He wonders loudly, pushing himself the sofa to go rummage Hudson's game collection and yeah, _totally_  stop staring at Kurt's face: "we should totally get some Mariokart up in here..." 


	19. (202): dude, despite what happened last night, I'm not gay

**(202): dude, despite what happened last night, I'm not gay**

"You told them all."

Hummel doesn't even break his stride, just barely turning his head to acknowledge Puck's hissing in his ear.

"Of course I did." He replies evenly. "Why wouldn't I? it's nothing to be ashamed of."

Puck feels his chest clench. "Yeah, not for  _you_ ; no-one gives two shits that you're fucking boys; you've practically got 'enter here' scrawled across the back of your pants."

Kurt jerks to a halt, swinging round so Puck almost crashes into him:

"What the fu--?"

"--I am so close to kicking you in the crotch right now." Kurt warns, taking another step so Puck has no choice but to back away.

Puck sneers at him: "Right, like an  _actual_  girl--"

Kurt jabs a finger at Puck's chest: "An  _actual_  girl wouldn't put up with you texting her bullshit about how whatever we got up to last night didn't  _mean_  anything, and that despite the fact your lips have been on  _every inch_  of my body, you're not in any way interested, and actually, let's just add insult to injury by prefixing all of that crap with some faux-casual macho nickname that only serves to accentuate how much of a coward you really are."

Puck grits his teeth:

"I'm not a coward."

"You're a coward of the highest degree." Kurt retorts, lifting his chin, and Puck wants to punch him in his smug mouth so fucking much that his fingers are going numb; punch him in the mouth and then smash their lips together and suck the blood away from his teeth.

Feeling something snap in his chest, Puck grabs Hummel by the arm and throws him against the nearest bank of lockers, pressing up hard and close and pinning him there with one solid arm across his chest.

"If you tell one fucking more person I will break your pretty little face." He tells him, pushing in until he can feel Kurt's breath coming sharp and hot against the side of his cheek.

"Why?" Kurt's trembling, and Puck hates that that simple fact is making his insides writhe and throwing grey across his whole line of vision. " _Because_  you think it's pretty?"

Puck's face flushes hot and for half a second he actually thinks he's gonna pass out, sweat beading on his top lip as he stares furiously into Kurt's terrifying eyes.

"Stop telling people." He repeats in a hiss, tongue feeling huge and useless in his mouth.

"And let everyone think it was some drunken dare, like you told Karofsky?!" Kurt spits back, and for the first time Puck sees the hurt threatening to spill over in his eyes. "So I can be the butt of everyone's jokes again? Desperate little fairy who wanted attention  _so bad_  he believed Noah Puckerman wanted in his bed?"

Puck slams a fist against the metal beside Kurt's head, and Kurt jumps but doesn't stop glowering at him:

"It's alright." He snarks, even though his words shake. "I know how you Neanderthal types get when your vocabulary runs out." And Puck closes his eyes, hating the tone in his voice.

"Why the hell are you doing this to me?" Puck grates at him. "You were in the closet for fucking long enough, you _know_  what this feels like."

Puck feels Kurt's body stiffen under his, and he has to open his eyes again; has to see that look in the other boy's face.

It's jarringly familiar; so nearly the expression he wore the first time Puck kissed him-- sixteen hours ago, on the landing of Kurt's stairs, softly, curiously, buzzing with want and a little too much dutch courage, and surrounded by the happy, tipsy sound of the Glee club singing karaoke in the front room.

Puck swallows hard.

Then he runs; just jerks away from Kurt's body and doesn't give anyone a backward glance as he shoves through the gawking crowd and runs the fuck out of there.

Kurt's right. He is a coward. 


	20. (407): Did you shave a certain someone in his sleep last night?

**(407): Did you shave a certain someone in his sleep last night?**

Kurt gazes hazily up at his dozing boyfriend. Sure, most of what he can see is a fairly unappetising shot up Puck's left nostril, but still: there is no denying that the man he is currently cuddling up to is one fine chunk of brawny maleness.

Aside from maybe just  _one_  little thing.

Kurt shifts slightly, draping himself over Puck's torso like a particularly lazy and ever-so-slightly-tipsy feline.  _God_ , his boyfriend is snuggly. He is  _super_  snuggly. This is totally why they spend so much time in bed together.

He closes his eyes for a moment, savouring the heat of Puck's skin underneath his cheek; the lazy  _thud-boom_  of his heartbeat, so much slower than it was earlier, when Kurt could feel it around every inch of him.

He's really lucky.  _Really_  lucky. 7 months ago Kurt had thought his life was over; every one of his dreams blasted into dust. But if he'd gone to New York, he'd never have had  _this_ ; he'd never have found out what Noah Puckerman could be outside of high school. He would've just been that jock Kurt used to be kind of friends with, back in glee club.

Now they were best friends. And lovers. And everything in between. And more than that:

Kurt knows Puck would  _totally_  let him cut his mohawk.

It isn't even so much the mohawk. It's the  _ratty_  mohawk. Kurt didn't really mind it all that much when Puck kept it buzzed and yes, definately, it is useful for winding his fingers into when the other boy wants to give his cock a thorough going-over with his hot, perfect, velvety mouth. But then, apparently, all Mr Schue's talk about 'not judging books by their covers', and 'really seeing each other' translated in Puck's brain into 'not making an effort with haircare'; and the sloppy, comb-over mohawk started to spread like poison ivy across Puck's scalp.

Slowly, stealthily (like a panther) Kurt plants one hand against the mattress and pulls himself up Puck's body. When their noses come into line, Kurt lays carefully down again, nuzzling his boyfriend's lips with his own as he stares thoughtfully at the black stripe cutting a path through the centre of his Puck's otherwise admirably-shaped skull.

But what exactly can he do?

Carefully, Kurt sits up, feeling that familiar strain in his quadriceps that makes him smile. After he regains his balance, he draws his fingertips lightly down Puck's chest, curious and disappointed that they don't leave trails: glitter or silver or light or something... That would be  _cool_. For a split second, Kurt thinks the best best thing in the world would be to find his special silver Christmas-card-writing gel pen and draw doodles all over every inch of Puck's perfect body. But then he focuses; looks at the mohawk; remembers he already has a task at hand.

"Puck." Kurt whispers, voice cracking in his sore, dry throat. "Babycakes."

He squeezes his knees together around Puck's torso; leans down and runs his tongue over Puck's left nipple.

Not even a  _twitch_.

"Puck." Kurt whispers, "I forgot to tell you. I've decided my voice is far too precious to let you keep putting your dick in my mouth."

Puck doesn't move.

"I'm into girls now."

Nothing.

"Finn asked if you were up for a threesome."

Not a snuffle.

Kurt smiles. What a boy.

Now...

He can't use the clippers. They'd be far too noisy;  _far_  too noisy.

Kurt clamps his tongue between his lips as he thinks, letting his hazy, drunken eyes wander their darkened bedroom. Then...

His gaze alights on the second drawer down on his bedside table, sitting just half an inch open, inviting him closer.

Kurt grins, glancing from the drawer, to his boyfriend's lamentable haircut, back to the drawer again.

Yes. Nail scissors would be  _perfect_.

It takes him a while to fit the tiny, razor sharp scissors between his fingers-- his fingertips feel about the size of his elbows, but he manages in the end. Then he settles himself with one knee nestled either side of Puck's ribs, balances with one hand curled in the pillow, and begins work on that serious re-style he's been dreaming of for so long...


	21. (803): My roommate made me a peanut butter and sprinkles sandwich. Maybe tonight isn't that bad.

**(803): My roommate made me a peanut butter and sprinkles sandwich. Maybe tonight isn't that bad.**

Puck creeps in at God-fuck-knows-what-hour, and at least does his best to avoid crashing into anything breakable on his way to the shower. He forgets to pocket his keys and instead drops them onto the kitchenette counter with a clatter; but Kurt's a pretty sound sleeper once he gets there and Puck just locks the bathroom door behind him and tries not to think about facing-off with a grumpy, half-conscious roomate.

Twenty minutes later he emerges, pulling on his sweats and resigned to three hours parked in front of the box until his brain stops pounding.

Kurt's filling the kettle up.

"...You ok?" Puck grunts, stomach sinking at the thought of dealing with a Hummel bitch-out after the night he's had. But Kurt just pushes a hand self-consciously back through his bed-hair and clicks the lid closed.

"Fine. Couldn't sleep." He's lying. "How about you? You look beat."

"Had better shifts." Puck admits shortly, slipping into the kitchen chair that seems to have become his out of habit. He covers his face with his hands and sits there for a bit, listening to Kurt pawing through the cupboards. Then he opens his eyes.

Blinks.

"Kurt. You made me a sandwich." He says, a little bit in awe "It's three in the morning."

"It's two-thirty." Kurt corrects. "And I imagined you might need something to soak up the alcohol."

Puck glowers at him a bit, but Kurt just sticks his tongue out the side of his mouth and continues stirring his tea.

"Do you want one?" He asks, nodding at the mug in front of him.

"What is it?"

"Chai. It'll help you sleep."

"Sounds like a plan...Hey." Puck pulls the sandwich back out of his mouth, frowning at the odd, unexpected sugary crunch between his teeth. Peanut butter's his usual, but what--

Puck's grin pushes against his weary cheekbones.

"You put sprinkles on my sandwich?"

"Well, I thought," Kurt reasons "What might cheer you up at two-thirty in the morning?"

Puck stares at him, fussily pouring teaspoons of honey into their mugs.

"...And sprinkles were the first thing you thought of?"

"Aaand we didn't really have anything else left in the cupboard." Kurt admits, opening said cupboard and pulling out the half-empty tub of sprinkles. He gives it a shake: "Want a top up?"

Puck snorts, "You're such a dork."

Kurt just grins back, padding over to treat Puck to a fresh covering of sugary-goodness.

Quietly, Puck starts laughing, grabbing Kurt's wrist and tugging him down into the chair opposite him. It's the early-morning, exhausted kind of giggles that he used to get when he and Finn stayed up to watch porny movies in high school-- but it kind of makes the big tight knot in his stomach start to loosen, and Puck is super grateful for sprinkles and crazy roomates who know how to use them.

When he finally gets up to go to bed (read: fall asleep watching shitty sitcoms) he pulls Kurt close and buries his face in his neck. It's a very short movement from Kurt's neck to his mouth, and the kiss is warm and chaste and makes Puck's skin prickle like it does everytime they get curious and lonely and their lips meet.

"Don't stay up too late." Kurt warns, eyes soft as his fingers drift vaguely against the warm ridges of Puck's hipbones.

Puck doesn't, in the end. His brain's kind of short-circuited now, and he falls asleep with the taste of sugar sprinkles and chai tea on his lips, mostly forgetting why he was so pissed off in the first place. 


	22. (843): I might get fired at work today. I had to prioritize. It's not my fault Cockasaurus came over.

  
**(843): I might get fired at work today. I had to prioritize. It's not my fault Cockasaurus came over.**

Puck presses his forehead against his arm, biting down on his skin as he thrusts his hips harder, fighting speeding up and slowing down and wishing Kurt's whimpers and encouragements in his ear were less fucking arousing, that he sounded a  _tiny bit less_  like he was dying from pure gorgeous  _joy_ , because Puck wants to keep this part of his day going for as long as possible and when Kurt sounds like  _that_ , Puck  _knows_  he isn't gonna last much longer.

"Oh baby... Noah oh  _ohhh Noah_  harder harder baby just...  _harder_... please please..."

Puck adjusts his grip around Kurt's thigh, jerking that leg higher around his waist and leaving Kurt's other toes pawing at the ground. It is  _awkward_  like this, fucking awkward; but  _sooo_  fucking worth it.

The cant of Kurt's hips is perfect and Puck slams in that last half inch and Kurt makes a sound like Puck might've actually have killed him, head thudding back against the cubicle wall as his breathing hitches and whimpers, too close to climax to be elegant about it anymore.

Puck tangles his free hand in Kurt's sweat-damp hair, pressing sloppy, fevered kisses against the flushed curve of his neck as he finally gives in, pounding fast and hard and giving over to the shudders thrumming through his legs; his hips judder and he finally  _finally_  comes, almost in tandem with his boyfriend, groaning like a kicked dog, digging his fingers into Kurt's thighs hard enough to bruise.

The two boys collapse against the cubicle wall, trembling, Puck's forehead pressed into the enclave of Kurt's shoulder, not even caring as the other boy's warm come drips down his stomach.

It's long minutes before either of them tries to move again. Kurt shifts his hips slightly and whimpers.

"Puck..."

"Hey baby." Puck doesn't open his eyes, just shifting his head slightly to nuzzle weakly at Kurt's ear. Kurt breathes a laugh, his clean hand coming up to run across Puck's sensitive scalp.

Eventually their lips find each other, exchanging tiny kisses in the deafening silence of blood not pounding through their bodies.

Kurt opens dazed, dark eyes, shining even brighter than usual above the pink stain of his cheeks. Puck's breath catches one more time at how beautiful he is.

"..Let me down?" Kurt suggests in a whisper.

Oh. Right.

 "Owowowowow." Kurt whimpers, swiping at the floor to find his pants. Puck does the same, replacing the other leg of his boxers and yanking them back up. He makes a face. He hates to admit it, but all he wants now is a good hour or so of sweet naked cuddle-time.

"God, I don't wanna work tonight." Puck complains, tugging Kurt back close by his belt-loops and doing up his shirt-buttons for him. Kurt raises an eyebrow, but doesn't complain. "I don't like thinking of you coming home and spending saturday night by yourself."

Kurt smiles, fastening the top button that Puck had deliberately left undone and wrapping his arms around Puck's waist:

"You'll be thinking of me?" He teases.

"You can just come work the bar with me, huh?" Puck suggests "Mark wouldn't mind. Give it a couple of hours, and you'd just be another wasted freshman making out with the barman. No-one would even blink."

"Oh." Kurt pulls back: "Make out with alot of freshman on shift, do you?"

Puck just presses in and kisses him agaiin.

They finish re-dressing in electric silence, stealing kisses and touches as they tidy each other up. Kurt snaps his watch back onto his wrist and pouts.

"I need to go."

"Don't."

"I  _neeeed_  to go." Kurt repeats, curling his hands around Puck's face and leaning up on his toes to press their mouths close.

Grudgingly, Puck reaches past Kurt to flick the lock on the cubicle door.

"Fine. I'll text you later?"

Kurt grins like a cheshire cat: "If you like. I might not answer. I might need to find some other way of...  _keeping myself occuppied_  in your absence."

Puck feels his cock twitch feebly in his pants.

"Oh  _God_  baby..."

He leans in for one last kiss, just as he feels the cubicle door wrenched away from his hand and suddenly they're not alone anymore.

A dude Puck doesn't know is staring at them, holding out something dangling from a wire that Puck recognises as one of the first things he ripped off his boyfriend before they decided to spend Kurt's lunchtime screwing like bunnies in the dressing-rooms.

Kurt's fingernails dig cresents into Puck's arms:

"J-Jeremiah?" He stammers, his voice re-discovering an octave from sometime before puberty.

Jeremiah just stares flatly at them: "Next time maybe make sure your radio's turned off?" 

 


	23. (480): I thought your voice was coming from the walls. I've never been so relieved to find you naked in a closet.

  
**(480): I thought your voice was coming from the walls. I've never been so relieved to find you naked in a closet.**

"Oh God!"

Kurt bolts upright, clutching his sheets to his chest and staring round the eerie, early morning darkness. He's not used to this house yet; it's nooks and crannies, it's creaks and shiftings. The shadows in the corners look way too predatory. And, oh yeah, those cookies Finn passed him earlier while giggling like a Chuckie doll probably don't help either.

He jumps as it comes again, that voice; that muffled chanting voice, the voice that was invading his dreams.

"Who's there?" Kurt demands of the darkness, listing in his fuzzy head every sharp object within a metre's radius he thinks could penetrate a fast-moving torso.

Nobody answers.

Kurt pulls his legs into his chest, coiling himself ready for fight or flight; he's not sure which. Although at this hour either will probably just end in him huddling on the floor flailing pathetically.

"My dad has a shotgun!" He warns more shrilly, wondering if his voice might put off any potential attackers, who might feel guilt about attacking any pre-pubescent children.

" _...See the lights, see the party, the ball gowns. See you make your way through the crowd..._ "

Kurt scrambles backwards, hitting his headboard and launching himself off the bed to huddle, trembling, by his dresser. He swipes the first thing he can lay a hand on as a weapon, which happens to be a barrel brush.

He looks at it. Shrugs.

He could probably kill someone with that.

"I'm armed!" He shouts. But the voice doesn't stop, doesn't even pause.

" _...And say, 'Hello,' Little did I know..._ "

Kurt frowns, tightening his grip on his hairbrush. He knows those lyrics.

" _...That you were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles, and my daddy said, 'stay away from Juliet...'_ "

Carefully, he takes a step into the centre of his room. The voice seems to get louder, and Kurt turns his head slowly from side to side, trying to pinpoint it.

" _...Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone, I'll be waiting; all that's left to do is run..._ "

His closet. Must be his closet.

Swallowing hard, Kurt girds everything he can gird and takes a step closer. And another. It's definately coming from his closet.

There is a person  _in his closet_.

" _...You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess, It's a love story, baby, just say, 'Yes'..._ "

Wait...

Kurt recognises that mumbly baritone.

Lowering his hairbrush, Kurt grabs the handle and yanks the door open, revealing a very cramped, very weepy looking Noah Puckerman.

"Puckerman?" Kurt sighs. Puck jerks like he's been tasered, scrabbling against the sides of the closet.

"Kurt..?"

"What are you doing in my closet?"

Puck looks around, like he hadn't quite noticed where he was.

"...It was safe in here." He mumbles pathetically, fingers stroking the soft pine under him. "No-one else here."

"We thought you'd got pissed and left." Kurt says, crossing his arms. Puck drops his head between his knees, dragging in a long breath, and Kurt remembers that the last time he'd actually seen Puck, he'd been standing on the couch doing a striptease to the Lucky Charms theme tune.

He crouches down, peering into Puck's traumatised looking face:

"Who are you hiding from?"

Puck stares at him.

"...The girls."

"Then my closet is probably not your best choice. Mercedes and Tina are in and out here all the time--"

Kurt almost topples over as Puck's hand shoots out and wraps tight around his wrist, pulling their faces close.

"They all hate me." Puck whispers. "They're driving me crazy, I just want the girls to leave me alone."

Kurt's mouth makes an undertsanding little 'o':

"And so you're... in the closet?"

"Yeah."

A tiny smile quirks the corner of Kurt's mouth.

"...How ironic."

 Puck stares past Kurt's shoulder, eyes darting around his darkened bedroom.

"I'm scared Kurt."

"You'll feel better once you come out." Kurt advises, struggling to keep his face straight.

"...Will you stay with me?"

"Oh I don't think me going back into the closet will help anyone." Kurt drawls, but Puck's eyes immediately fill with scared tears.

"Please. I don't want to be alone anymore."

"Oh jesus Puck, how many of those cookies did you have?"

"There were cookies?" Puck's face scrunches up as he tries to remember. "I had that cake..."

"Oh  _god_."

Kurt shifts, getting a tighter grip on Puck's arm and settling himself cross-legged on the floor.

"Everyone else went home hours ago Puck. Including the girls. You sure you don't wanna just come out and sleep on Finn's floor?"

Puck doesn't answer. But his terrified expression says it all. Kurt fights back a yawn.

"If I close the door you're gonna start singing again aren't you?"

" _Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone--_ "

"--Okay okay okay..."

Not quite believing he's doing it, Kurt clambers over Puck's immobile form, huddling himself against the opposite side of his closet and pulling the door to.

"Wow." he breathes into the darkness "So glad I insisted on the walk-in version."

Then, suddenly, his brain freezes.

"Wait. Hang on. Puck. Where are your clothes?"

"Huh?"

"Your clothes? Where are they?!"

"Oh. They were talking about me. I had to chuck 'em before someone heard."

"Riiight.." Kurt pulls his feet very slowly back to his chest. But Puck doesn't seem to like that.

"Kurt. Where'd you go?"

Kurt jerks as two big manly hands clamp around his ankles.

"Oh thank god! Don't leave me here."

"I'm not going anywhere." Kurt assures him, awkwardly patting the back of Puck's hand.

They sit like that for long minutes, and Kurt lets his eyes drift close and tries not to think too hard about naked Noah Puckerman's hand creeping up his leg in a darkened closet.

After a while, Puck starts singing again, and-- realising there's no point in resisting-- Kurt joins in.

" _Romeo, save me, they're trying to tell me how to feel, this love is difficult but it's real, don't be afraid, we'll make it out of this mess, it's a love story, baby, just say, 'Yes'..._ "

"You know, I think this may be the single gayest moment of my entire life." Kurt decides. "And I've entered Little Miss Ohio."

Puck's hand tightens round his knee:

"Don't leave me, Kurt."

Kurt smiles, squeezing Puck's hand and settling back against the hard wall of his closet:

"Not goin' anywhere. Just let me know when you're ready to come out."


	24. (240): I knew you were drunk when you poured scotch on a croissant and ate it.

**(240): I knew you were drunk when you poured scotch on a croissant and ate it.**

"Ohhh, that tastes like... _craaaap_..."

"Dude, give it here."

Puck snatches the half-eaten pastry from Kurt's lax fingers, letting the amber liquid drip onto his tongue before he rips off a bite.

"Hummel, I'm afraid your definition of crap needs to be rewritten because that's actually  _awesome._ "

Puck takes another bite, then lowers the disputed coissant to find Hummel glowering at him from swollen, narrowed eyes.

"I thought more alcohol was supposed to cure hangovers?" He says.

Puck screws up his forehead: "Who told you that?"

Kurt glances around, as if the answer might be hiding behind the utensils:

"..It made sense in my head." He admits mulishly.

"'Sides." Puck tells him, gaze scrolling over the messed-up counter-tenor's flimsy body. "You're not hungover. You're drunk as a skunk."

Kurt seems to take offense at this, and wraps a hand round the counter-top to keep himself from toppling over in rage:

"I had  _one_  beer Puckerman! I had one beer, it was  _your_  stupid beer, and it tasted like dishwater anyways, I'm not 'still drunk'!"

Puck finishes off the whisky-soaked croissant, sucking the remaining alcohol off his fingers:

"We kept swapping in a new one."

Kurt blinks. Repeatedly. Like his head might start spinning or something.

"...What?"

"We kept swapping beers in." Puck explains, grin getting wider and wider as Kurt's mouth gets thinner and thinner.

"Everytime you half finished one we swapped it for a new one. You had like six beers before you passed out. It was hilarious."

Actually, when he says it like that, Puck thinks it's maybe not that hilarious. Kurt looks like a million times unimpressed.

"You got me like this?" He demands, voice hitting that grating pitch that means Puck can't actually hear the end of his words.

"Hey, it was a party, dude. Humiliating the nerds is all part of the fun."

Kurt's cheeks are all pink, but the rest of his face is freakishly white, and Puck wouldn't be totally surprised if he came at him with a fish-slice or something.

So he's kind of caught out when Kurt just sways slightly on the spot for a minute before saying, very quietly:

"We're meant to be teammates."

Puck shrugs: "It was funny." He replies flatly. He doesn't like Kurt's eyes looking at him like that.

Kurt sniffs a bit. He's probably gonna start crying.

"...Was Finn in on your cunning scheme?"

Oh right. Of course. Puck rolls his eyes.

"Look, Finn isn't some knight in shining armour." He spits, taking a step closer and feeling a weird spike in his stomach when Kurt doesn't back away. "He's as much of a dickhead as I am, the only reason people ever cut him a break is 'cuz he's dumb as a sack of rocks. He's only in glee to get into Berry's pants, everyone knows that; and he's sure as hell not gonna fight for  _your_  honour Hummel, so stop making Bambi eyes at him and go jack off to Lady Gaga like the rest of the glitter brigade."

Puck pulls in a breath that rattles through his teeth, holding Hummel's drunk-eyed stare and liking that he looks such a fucking state right now.

Puck doesn't know why the kid riles him so much. He has been  _trying_  to get along with the glee freaks, or at least, y'know, stop throwing them in trash cans and shit. But Hummel just keeps on coming. He never gives him a break, never gives him the benefit of the doubt; he's always just throwing Puck that look like he's a piece of shit stuck to the bottom of one of his expensive-ass girl-boots, and Puck has had it up to here people treating him like he's worth diddly-squat.

And yeah: he is sick to fuck of people being in love with Finn Hudson.

He takes another step closer:

"Go stick your head in the toilet Hummel before I do it for you."

Kurt at least knows when to cut his losses. He just glares balefully for a second longer then storms out. Or at least, he tries to: he doesn't quite have the coordination. He crashes his shoulder into Puck's on the way to the door, and Puck can feel that impact against his arm for the rest of the day.

Stupid guilt. As if Puck doesn't have enough already.


	25. (860): i will replace your cream cheese. there's enough for breakfast. you are my friend. i had guests we wanted bagels so bad im sorry. i left you notes. i love you. you have enough for a bagel or two and i will get you more. you are so pretty.

**(860): i will replace your cream cheese. there's enough for breakfast. you are my friend. i had guests we wanted bagels so bad im sorry. i left you notes. i love you. you have enough for a bagel or two and i will get you more. you are so pretty.**

Rachel's grinning at him, leaning her elbows on the back of the couch as the three of them survey Hungover Puck's handiwork.

"Apparently hungover you is super-affectionate." She informs him, as Puck feels every cell in his body blushing crimson.

Beside him, Kurt cocks his head: "I don't even  _have_  pink post-its." He flutters his fingers "I prefer to stick with the classic yellow."

The Hummelberry kitchenette is covered in pink post-it notes. The counters, the fridge, the cupboards, the light fittings. All covered in tiny messages of thanks and gratitude and (Puck wants to stab himself in the face) declarations of undying affection for the owner of the cream cheese container he raided on a craving at seven am this morning.

"I remember... leaving you a note..." Puck explains weakly, reaching over to pluck one of less terrifying looking post-its from the front of the microwave. it just says 'THANKYOU!!!!' in big, scratchy capital letters, surrounded by exclamation marks.

"I assume you just got hold of the pad and became overwhelmed with possibilities." Kurt muses dryly.

Puck glances at him from the corner of his eye. He is enjoying this way too much.

"Rachel, of course, thought they were for her." Kurt continues to explain, stepping forward so he can demonstrate. "But then I pointed out stuff like 'hung like a stallion'," He points to the offending note, giving Puck the side eye: "curious how you know that. And 'chicest Ayran 2014'. And of course the use of the word 'Kurtilicious'. Which hey, you even spelled correctly," He passes the note to Puck "look at that."

Puck glances at the note and swallows hard, the bow-wrapped double-size cream cheese container in his hand seeming to weigh down the whole left side of his body.

"Hungover me is an dumbfuck." He concludes numbly.

"Hungover you is adorable." Rachel corrects gleefully, resting her chin in her crossed arms. "Kurt thinks so too, he's just being  _snotty_."

Puck covers the somersault in his stomach with a grunt: "I remember when you freaks used to run from me."

"Do you?" Kurt looks sympathetic, patting his arm.

Puck holds out the cheese tub: "Have your cheese."

"So are you gonna, um..." Puck asks as Kurt walks him to the door "Keep all those?"

"Are you kidding?" Kurt drawls. "That's more love from a hot guy on a Saturday morning than I've had in a  _long_ time. I thought I might relocate them to a collage around my dresser mirror."

Puck bites his lip when his face can't decide whether to scowl or smile at that.

"So who were your guests?" Kurt asks in a quieter voice, combing his fingers through his bangs like he's lost something in there.

"Just some dorks from work." Puck grips tighter at the door-handle.

"Female dorks?"

Puck leans against the door: "What's it to you?"

Kurt mirrors his movement: "Just, y'know; wondered if it was a  _celebratory_  breakfast or an apology."

"Puckzilla never needs to apologise." Puck informs him, raising an eyebrow. "And anyways, it was just..." He stutters a bit when Kurt's eyes flick back up to his: "messin' round."

Kurt nods, pulling himself up to standing again.

"Cool. Well. Hot cocoa and slippers tonight, huh? Take a night off from  _slayin' the ladies_. Your wrist must be killing you."

Puck stares.

"From the, writing." Kurt clarifies, face flushing crimson. "The... millions of post-it notes... Oh shut up."

He whacks Puck across the arm, and Puck laughs, chancing a glance to check Rachel's still focused on her wine-glass.

"So, you... doing anything tonight?" He asks, lowering his voice a bit.

"Oh, sixteen hundred words of a research project." Kurt returns sadly. "Ice-cream. Weeping."

Puck blinks. "Right."

"Yeah... Just another crazy Saturday night in the Hummelberry household."

They look at each other for a minute, and Puck tries to figure out why it feels like his stomach is deflating.

"...I  _am_  sorry about the cheese--"

"--'Night Puck." Kurt interrupts, cheeks still a bit pink from earlier. Puck nods.

"Sure. Night."

Hungover Puck may be adorable, but he definately isn't tidy. He and Finn's room is still a bomb-site, and Puck has to kick his way unhappily through the dishes and dvds and permanent markers strewn about the floor so he can get to the kettle and right down to some hardcore cocoa-making.

Only one half of the kitchen counter is clear of crap, and Puck's already found a mug and scooped out some cocoa before he realises that sitting in the middle of it is a brand new fresh six-pack of bagels.

Puck frowns. He didn't buy bagels. Maybe Finn brought them back in the afternoon? But dude said he had work...

Then he notices it, stuck to the top of the packet:

A lone, yellow post-it note.

Biting his lips hard together, Puck snatches it up, bringing it up to his face to read the familiar swirly handwriting:

 

_I love you too  
P.S. Thanks for the cheese-- Breakfast tomorrow?_


	26. (704): the point of no return was when you "drugged" his drink with glitter. face-planting on his dick was beyond.

**(704): the point of no return was when you "drugged" his drink with glitter. face-planting on his dick was beyond.**

"Hummel!"

"Speeeaaaking!"

Kurt appears as ordered, swinging round the doorframe from the interior of the Berry's kitchen. He is completely shit-faced. Which, in Puck's opinion is all for the good since being shit-faced is pretty much Puck's native tongue. He does well with shit-faced people.

Puck grins, sauntering over and fixing an arm round Kurt's waist, nestling their bodies close together. Kurt smiles, rolling his head back onto Puck's shoulder and gazing up at him:

"Hellloooo..." He breathes.

"Hey sexy." Puck drops a kiss onto Kurt's forehead. "So." He lifts his plastic cup up in front of the other boy's nose. "Wanna tell me why you thought it was a good idea to spike my happy juice?"

Kurt wrinkles his nose, frowning at the half-empty cup like he's never seen it before.

"...What makes you think it was me?" He asks slyly.

Puck gives the glass a shake.

"Ooh  _shiny_!!"

Hummel makes a grab for the glassy liquid, now sparkling with little flurries of gold body-glitter, which Kurt also currently has smeared over every exposed patch of his skin.

The other boy lets go of the doorframe and snatches the cup from Puck's hands, and Puck wraps both arms tight round his waist so he doesn't get away, leaning his mouth close against the his ear:

"Tryin' a drug me up Hummel? Have your wicked way with me?"

Kurt laughs, drunk eyes fixed on the magical-looking alcohol.

"...It's like a glass-ful of Christmas." He breathes.

"I'm Jewish." Puck reminds him, slipping his thumbs up under the front of Kurt's shirt; shivering at the tiny, forbidden touch of skin against skin. He bites his lip.

"It's like a glass-full of  _Menorahs_." Kurt amends diligently.

They sway there for a moment, Kurt's eyes gazing in wonder as the glitter drifts back to the bottom of the glass; Puck's eyes gazing a Kurt.

"So...?" Puck prods, pulling Kurt back a little closer against him. His skin's realy hot, Puck can feel it through his t-shirt; through his jeans, making his cock start to throb. He lets out a tiny breath against Kurt's neck and feels the other boy shiver in his arms.

"...Thought you needed some more sparkle." Kurt explains vaguely, having a bit of trouble with his 's's.

"Oh." Puck nods, very understandingly. He presses his teeth into his lip. "Well, you know where else I can get sparkle?"

Then,flattening his hand against Kurt's stomach, he leans down and licks a slow stripe along the curve of Kurt's jaw.

Kurt lets out a shaky little breath, and promptly drops the cup from his hand.

"Oh shit!" He exclaims and bends abruptly down to rescue it, shoving his ass hard back against Puck's crotch.

Puck's brain almost short-circuits.

"You licked me!" Kurt tells him when he straightens up again, downing the remaining tequila in one go before forcing himself to twist around in Puck's tight embrace.

Woah. Puck swallows. That was some abrupt dick-to-dick contact.

"Yeah." He agrees, surprising himself at how gravelly his voice has gone. He can't help how his hips push a bit harder against Kurt's. He is horny as  _fuck_. Maybe all his drinks should be spiked with glitter. "Can I do it again?"

Kurt stares at him for a moment. Then he leans across and runs his tongue slowly over Puck's top lip:

"...Yes."

Puck snorts a laugh, and Kurt smiles like he's not quite sure what Puck's so amused by, but is taking it as a compliment:

"Do I have more glitter on me?" He asks, half lowering his eyelids.

Puck's skin is tingling all over.

"Yeah, just..."

Puck leans in, heart beating madly as he closes his lips around Kurt's top one, sucking gently before pulling away. He feels Kurt's fingers curling around his waistband.

"Did I get it?" He asks, lips still close against Kurt's.

Kurt shakes his head: "...Try again." He whispers.

Puck immediately presses back in, grinning at Kurt's transparency. See? This is what Puck means about people being way easier to get on with when they're blasted off their nuts.

He runs his tongue along the seam of Kurt's lips, doing a thorough job of licking all the gloss away before pressing inside his mouth, hot shudder going through his body as Kurt's tongue slides against his, similarly hungry, similarly curious. Puck will be so fucking mad if Finnocense lumbers in and interrupts them now.

Puck groans as Kurt's drink-numb fingers drag their hips close, rutting experimentally against Puck's erection now straining against his pants. Fuck. Puck's hands grab at the well-defined curve of Kurt's backside, pulling him close to do it again.  _Fuck_.

"Fuck..." He breathes, and he feels Kurt's eyelashes flutter against his cheek as he leans back a bit, teeth pulling at Puck's lip.

Suddenly, the other boy cracks up giggling.

"What?" Puck glowers; but Kurt just presses his damp lips together and lets go of Puck's jeans for a second to run a finger down his chin instead. It comes away covered in golden sparkles.

Puck raises an eyebrow at him. "Hey look." He drawls. "You're catching."

"Hmmm." Kurt smiles contentedly, wiping that finger off against Puck's tee before a measure of clarity seems to flit back across his features. For a moment, the two trembling boys just look at each other, before Kurt's gaze drops again and he rolls his hips in a slow, teasing circle against Puck's.

" _Fuuuuck..._ " Puck gasps, too loud to not be noticed from the front room, but he doesn't care. Who cares if they hear? This is hot as fuck.

"I didn't think you liked this." Kurt murmurs, still gazing somewhat awestruck down at their adjoining bodies.

"Must be the glitter." Puck quips back then, quieter: "You make me crazy." He admits tightly, and, despite everything, Kurt actually flushes.

"Oh." He says. Then, half-raising an eyebrow: "Well then. Let's make you crazy..."

And he sounds very serious about it, as his fingers drift back down the front of Puck's shirt and start working his flies apart.

Puck's eyes search the other boy's massively concentrating face, but he doesn't see any hint of hesitation there. "Oh god yes." He whispers encouragingly back, and Kurt glances up and grins at him, as he slips out of Puck's grip and down on to his knees.

 _Oh God_. Puck squeezes his eyes shut. Unexpected blowjobs are the best kind of blowjobs. He's getting blown in Berry's kitchen. And no, he fucking does  _not_  want to be thinking of Rachel Berry right now. God no. Hummel. Hummel and his glitter:

"Oh God, you're gonna get glitter all over my dick aren't you?" Puck realises, fighting between a laugh and a hiss as Kurt tugs his underwear down and Puck's boner finally springs free.

"Jus' like Christmas." Kurt repeats hazily, and Puck pushes his fingers through the back of the other boy's hair, squeezing his eyes shut in anticipation.

He keeps them squeezed shut for quite a long time, holding his breath at Kurt's hand tightening and then loosening around his hip; then the press of his cheek against Puck's thigh; then Kurt's hot, soft hand curling carefully around the base of Puck's cock, squeezing gently.

Then that hand falls away.

Puck gives it a second, waits for that hand to come back; the warm wet graze of Kurt's tongue.

Then he opens his eyes:

"Kurt?"

He glances down.

" _Kurt_? What the fuck?"

Kurt's cheek is still pressed comfortably against Puck's thigh.  _Too_  comfortably, as it happens.

The boy is snoring gently against Puck's short and curlies, now decorated with a smear of golden body glitter.

Puck stares down at him.

Then, knowing he brought this all on himself, he exhales dramatically at the ceiling:

"Right, I get it." He tells God. "No more mixing glitter and alcohol." He runs his hand through sleeping Kurt's hair.

" _Jesus..._ " 


	27. (248): It is pretty awful out and I still haven't put on pants yet.

**(248): It is pretty awful out and I still haven't put on pants yet.**

"It's like ten o'clock, Coach said nine-thirty!" Finn's complaining, shouting over the sound of rain thundering down around him.

Puck knows it's thundering 'cos he's watching it from the other side of his window, content in cozy, musty-smelling hole of his bedroom. He actually has the window openened, y'know, for the fresh air; for the sound of the rain battering against the sidewalk. But he's not fool enough to actually go out there. Freakin'  _monsoon conditions_ , man.

He says as much to Finn, who just sighs irritably.

"Coach said  _come rain or shine_." He repeats plaintively, and Puck can hear the sound of the rest of the team behind him, yelling passes to each other through the downpour; the unmistakable sound of 200 pounds of muscle slip-sliding like hippos in the muck, crashing face-first into the goal-line.

Yeah. Not so much.

"Dude, you can do without me for one practice." Puck grates, rolling his eyes. "I told you, I feel like shit: think it's that nasty burrito from yesterday comin' back to kick my ass. If I go out in this I'll probably get hypothermia or something. You don't want me to bite it just before the season starts do you?"

"Stop being an asshole." Finn returns flatly, and Puck guesses that maybe he's not as much of a gullible Sesame Street character as he used to be.

He pushes a hand back through his mohawk.

"Look, I'm sick, I'm beat and I'm butt-naked. By the time I get down there you'll be on the cool-down anyways. Coach can eat me out come Monday."

He closes his eyes: God he didn't mean it like that. Shut up. Nasty image.

"Dude, Finn, It's not like--"

But Finn's gone; and all that's left in Puck's ear is heavy silence and the faint ghost of pounding rain.

Puck exhales heavily, staring at his phone screen and dropping back down onto the edge of the bed. It's not so much that he minds pissing Finn off-- but he could totally do without (another) one of Rachel's being-a-team-player powerpoints come school time. He turns his phone over ponderously in his fingers for a moment; then, fighting back a yawn, tosses it across the room so it gets lost down behind the sofa cushions.

He glances over his shoulder at Kurt, still out for the count, face half-buried beneath his pillows.

The covers are pulled back where Puck scrambled out, exposing one slender arm, fingers curled in the edge of the pillowcase; the pale curve of Kurt's throat, traced with reddish marks just about the size and shape of Puck's mouth; one slightly pointed ear, visible under the crazy muss of his hair.

Puck pulls himself back across the mattress, biting his lip as he slips a hand under the covers, pushing them a little further down Kurt's back, revealing another few inches of pale, bare shoulder.

He just gazes at him for a moment, soaking up the warmth of the gorgeous, sleeping boy in his bed through his fingers, feeling the soft rise and fall of his breathing, thumb grazing back and forth across his skin, before leaning down and pressing his lips to the curve of Kurt's bicep.

Nah. Puck's not going anywhere.


	28. (305): One day. I will touch his hair. I'm curious if it'll be like a soft cloud.

**(305): One day. I will touch his hair. I'm curious if it'll be like a soft cloud.**

It's not the first time he's felt like trapped animal, backed into a dark corner, with Noah Puckerman's muscular form looming over him.

But it's definately the first time like this.

"--C'mon Kurt jus' lemme  _touch_..."

Puck's hand starts drifting upwards again, and Kurt catches it like it's the string of a balloon, twining their fingers together.

"Puck, stop being creepy." He orders, trying to maintain eye-contact: 'cos that's totally how you get through to simple, pea-brained wild carnivores.

Puck looks instantly wounded, wrinkling his nose:

"'M not  _creepy_..." He protests, as his other hand takes over the task, reaching graspingly towards Kurt's head.

"Stop it!" Kurt repeats, catching that hand too. Puck immediately resumes trying to wrench his first hand free of Kurt's grip.

"How do you even  _get_  it like that?" He asks again, pupils blown wide as he gazes wonderingly at Kurt's coiffure. "It's so bouncy, like  _girl's hair_ , mine never ever does that, although it was all curly like mom's when I was a kid..." He babbles, words slipping into each other so Kurt has to start falling back on his lip-reading skills to figure out what he's saying.

"Some of us put time and effort into haircare Puck." He explains though his teeth, still fighting to keep the other boy at arm's length. "I'm lucky, I have hair like Scarlett Johnassen. But it's really just a simple combination of organic conditioning products and expert styling advice--"

He's cut off when Puck's undeniably superior upper-body strength overpowers him and suddenly, instead of trying to disentangle their fingers, Puck (sneakily) tugs on Kurt's arms and wraps them around his own back, so Kurt finds himself with his hands held tight two inches from Puck's ass and the other boy's face pressed hard against the side of his head:

"Just can I smell it?" Puck breathes, burying his nose in Kurt's hair while Kurt continues gaping like a tuna and trying to pinpoint the most mortifying part of this moment.

Puck takes a giant sniff, his chest expanding against Kurt's, and Kurt closes his eyes, willing his face not to start burning up from embarassment.

"What is--?"

"--It's apple and lemongrass." Kurt answers tightly, wanting to relax his fingers but worried about accidentally grazing Puck's ass cheeks.

"It's  _yummy_." Puck pronounces, and breathes a laugh that scatters a good chunk of Kurt's carefully styled handiwork. Kurt feels his stomach sink.

"Good. I'm glad." He says, trying to wriggle at least one hand free so he can yank himself free from what, to the outside observer, probably looks like some weird, awkward BDSM slow dance.

But he lets out a squeak of surprise when Puck suddenly releases his hands, his curious fingers grasping for Kurt's scalp instead and pushing all up through his perfectly sculpted competition hair.

" _Puck_!!" Kurt takes the chance and pretty much leaps backwards, batting Puck away with flapping hands.

But this time, Puck doesn't come after him. He just stares confusedly at Kurt's ruined hair-do, hands falling limply at his sides.

"Where's the cloud?" He asks plaintvely.

Kurt glowers, fighting the urge to wrap his arms over his head so no-one can see the moron's damage.

"Inside your  _head_ , clearly." He snaps back, wondering what the odds are of him crashing into some perfect, beatiful boy if he were to dash back to his hotel room for a re-style.

But Puck isn't looking at him anymore; instead his eyes have drifted back to his own fingers, gazing sadly at those teacherous digits as all his illusions about the fluffiness of Kurt's hair shatter around him:

"... I just wanted the cloud..."


	29. (954): I'll have you know that I'm still picking duct tape residue off my wrist from sunday.

  
**(954): I'll have you know that I'm still picking duct tape residue off my wrist from sunday.**

Their breath comes harsh and fast, Kurt's fingernails still digging ridges in Puck's ribs, his cheek sticking against Puck's sweat damp chest.

"Do you think people  _die_  having sex in the summer in New York?" Puck ponders numbly, shifting weakly; listening to his spine pop.

"Yes." Kurt answers, breath ghosting across Puck's nipple and making it instantly harden. "But what a way to go, huh?" He drags himself across a few centimetres, his tongue flicking teasingly over the hard pink nub, and Puck lets out a weak moan, head falling to the side.

"Baby--"

"--I  _can't move_  cupcake. My thighs are broken. I'm sleeping here and you can't stop me."

"If you don't get off me soon I'm pretty sure we're gonna stick this way."

Kurt pouts against Puck's skin:

"Would that be such a bad thing?"

"...It would make getting the subway pretty fucking awkward."

Kurt snorts, pressing lazy kisses against Puck's sternum before he drags hiself back up to sitting.

Puck pushes his teeth into his lip, forcing his knackered eyes open to gaze down at his boyfriend straddled across his hips. He looks happy, which, yeah, he should. And exhausted. And fucked to hell, which is, in Puck's opinion, one of his very best looks.

"You alright beautiful?" Puck asks, feeling the words roll off his tongue before he even thinks about them. He automatically tries to reach out a hand to run through Kurt's hair, but he can't stretch that far, and Kurt quirks a smile at him for trying.

"'Better than alright." He returns softly, tracing lazy circles over Puck's chest with his warm palms. He sticks his bottom lip out and blows the hair off his forehead.

"...Did you like it?" He asks, almost shyly, eyes preoccupied by his own wandering hands.

Puck curls his fingers into fists, tugging against his bonds.

"Babe, don't look like that. Not when I can't do anything about it."

Kurt lifts his eyes, running his fingernails slowly down the centre of Puck's ribcage: "Look like what?"

"All innocent. When I've spent the last two hours duct-taped to your headboard being ridden like the bucking bronco at the state fair."

"Good metaphor." Kurt congratulates him dryly, leaning up to press a kiss to Puck's lips.

He doesn't quite get there. He just hovers, teasing Puck's lips with the softest of touches as the other boy struggles to lift his head and follow him.

"Oh god, let me up babe..." Puck groans, bending a knackered leg at the knee and doing his best to dislodge Kurt from his body. Kurt wobbles and shoots a hand backwards to pin Puck's ankle back against the mattress:

"Hmm. Maybe we should tape your ankles as well next time."

"Why? Was I not behaving myself for you sugar?" Puck teases, even as his dick starts processing what that would feel like; being completely prone under Kurt's ministrations. He feels an agonising shiver race through his legs.

"I don't know, you did get awful  _kicky_  towards the end there." Kurt chastises."You were throwing my rythmn off-- I'm not a showjumper."

Puck arches an eyebrow:

"Coulda fooled me ..." He runs his tongue over his lips, and once more tries to make a move towards his boy before the tape round his wrists stops him. With a sigh he collapses frustratedly back against the pillows:

"Okay; just imagine I'm licking your thighs right now."

Kurt laughs softly, finally pulling himself off Puck's dick and laying back down against his chest, nestling his head beneath Puck's chin: "Mmm, that feels good..."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah."

Puck turns his head, pressing an awkward kiss to the spot on top of Kurt's head he can actually reach, and he feels Kurt smile hazily, trailing his fingers sleepily along the lines of Puck's body.

They stay that way for a long moment, as Kurt's breathing evens out and Puck wriggles his toes against the cramp starting to creep down his legs.

Puck blows a puff of air gainst Kurt's hair, getting his attention.

"Um. So, cuddle time's gonna be way better if I have my arms back." He suggests. Kurt lifts his head, blinking up at him through the dark. Then his eyes refocus past Puck's head, to his hands caught against the struts of the headboard.

"Hmm." He agrees, lethargically pulling himself up Puck's body. "I'm missing your hands anyway..."

Puck grins: "Oh yeah? What would you-- _Ow_!"

Kurt freezes."What?"

Puck had not expected this level of pain. He grits his teeth as Kurt peels the duct tape from his skin."Shit that's--  _ow_!"

"Puck, stop being a baby--"

"-- _Fuck_!" Puck can feel tears springing into his eyes, his skin burning where Kurt has yanked out the hair follicles with the suddenly not sexier-than-handcuffs duct tape.

He feels Kurt sit up straight again, both his hands coming to rest on Puck's chest.

"Ok, so um. I think I've discovered a flaw in our plan..."

 


	30. (708): I still love him regardless of his misguided forays into heterosexuality

**(708): I still love him regardless of his misguided forays into heterosexuality**

Kurt's sitting at the edge of the pool, with his feet dangling the water and his elbows on his knees. He has that look of carefully concentrated  _nothing_  on his face, which Puck started hating a long time ago.

"Yo." Puck says quietly, not wanting to startle him and catapult him into bitch mode.

"Hey." Kurt answers. It's not frosty or irritable or unkind, so Puck sits down beside him, rolling up his pants and sticking his feet in the pool too. Puck doesn't really know what kind of reception he was expecting.

For a minute they both sit, kicking their feet lazily through the water.

"You wanna clean my pool?" Kurt drawls eventually, and Puck snorts:

"Your pool's fucking spotless." He retorts quietly, and watches a tiny smile flit across Kurt's lips.

"So, I know you're playing it cool and all-- but did Lauren body slam you when you broke up with her? Enquiring minds want to know."

Puck purses his lips. "She broke up with  _me_." He admits. "And I wouldn't try and body slam  _her_  for all the cut-price liquor in Ohio."

" _Such_  a gentleman."

"You know it Hummel."

Puck rolls his shoulders, staring at the water rippling and breaking around his shins. This is the conversation he drove all the way over her for but still: the words don't come easy.

"We're still friends." He mutters, off Kurt's silence. "She's awesome. Just, I dunno. After a while I guess I figured out it wasn't really her that was turning me on-- it was how much she reminded me of everything I love about you."

The word slips out-- Puck hadn't intended it, he didn't really wanna put the 'L' word out there, not so soon. Not when Kurt's still staring miserably into the chlorinated depths of his pool and ignoring team barbeque invitations. Kurt turns his head. It's amazing how clear his eyes can look when he's staring right at you.

The corner of Puck's mouth puckers briefly, and he leans back on his hands, pulling his eyes away from Kurt's gaze.

"...But I guess once Nationals was over, we both realised it wasn't gonna work." He finishes with a deep breath. His heart still pulls a bit, thinking about it.

"You seemed really into her." Kurt observes, in that nerve-gratingly blunt way he has.

Puck nods. "...Yeah. Like I said: she's awesome. But, I dunno. Who knows about this stuff? Timings, I guess."

Kurt smiles tinily.

"...Did you say hi to dad on your way in?"

Puck raises his eyebrows. "Yeah. He didn't try to cut my balls off, so I figured you didn't tell him I've been in juvie."

"I didn't think it'd be helpful." Kurt confirms, looking amused.

Puck kicks at the water again, watching the the splashes sparkle in the hazy dusk light.

"I liked being in a relationship again though." Puck says, picking at the tiling with his fingernail, forcing himself back onto their previous topic.

"...So did I." Kurt sighs, leaning over and resting his arms on his knees. "It was nice to be with someone solid. Uncomplicated. It felt  _real_  with Blaine, y'know? It felt like it was just us against the rest of the world. No ex-girlfriends or teen pregnancies or--"

"-- crushes on step-brothers?" Puck supplies helpfully, and Kurt rolls his eyes, but rests an affectionate hand against Puck's knee:

"Right."

Puck lets Kurt pull at his knee, resting their legs rest together. It's weirdly intimate, Kurt's fingers tucked against the inside of Puck's thigh. They haven't touched in a long time. Looking at him, Puck thinks the body he would find under all Kurt's fancy layers would be pretty different to the one he was so familiar with this time last year. He won't pretend he hasn't noticed how much he's changed.

Puck doesn't know if he's changed at all. He feels like he has. Everything since Beth has been so fucked up. Only Lauren made him feel like a real person again, like he was anything other than that screw up that went to juvie; that loser who knocked up Quinn Fabray.

Before his guts leave him, Puck blurts out:

"I wanna give us another shot."

Kurt's brow furrows. For a long, silent moment he doesn't move.

"It's been two weeks Puck. Finn's been teaching me how to kick chairs without breaking any digits."

"I know." Puck nods, swallowing hard, and reaching across to run a finger down Kurt's arm.

"But I feel like, anyone I ever date now, all I'm looking for is you. And, y'know, I need  _you_  to know that. Even if it's not now. Us, I mean. I wanna know if I even have a shot."

"...When did you get so honest?"

"When did you get so sexy?" Puck returns, smiling and Kurt snorts, muffling it against the back of his hand.

"I was always sexy." He says, and almost sounds like he believes it. Puck grins.

"True dat." He says simply.

The kitchen light flicks on, and the two boys glance over, automatically checking they're still in shadow. Puck feels Kurt's hand tighten a little on his leg.

It's Finn in the kitchen. They watch him searching through the fridge; chatting to his mom when she joins him, loading the dishwasher. Neither of them look out the window, even though they must know Kurt's outside. They must know that Puck came in and disappeared.

Puck looks at their feet in the water. How come everyone looks super pale when they're underwater? Kurt's skin looks practically blue. Maybe after four years cleaning pools for a living he should know this.

He starts a bit as he suddenly feels a warm pressure against his shoulder; Kurt leaning over and resting his head there. They're the same height now, Puck realises, with another flutter in his stomach, even as his hand automatically comes up to card through the other boy's hair.

"...You have a shot." Kurt tells him, very quietly. "You have a good shot."

Puck turns his head just a bit; but he can't see the other boy's eyes from here. Then he glances back at the house, and lets out a breath like he's exhaling all the oxygen in his body.

That's all he needed to know.


End file.
